


The Truth Is, You Should Lie With Me

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Universe Without Moriarty/Mary/Eurus/Irene, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Crack, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Humor, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Nasty At Times, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock is a Mess, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love, Witch Curses, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-01 00:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18325043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Sherlock has pissed off the wrong person and gets cursed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third time that I confront Sherlock with women with powers he doesn't believe in. This seems to have huge appeal to me :) I hope you can live with another take at it! 
> 
> This fic is not very nice to Molly Hooper. Well, what can I say… :)
> 
> In this universe nothing that puts so much pressure on Sherlock and John has happened or will happen. They are basically the great consulting detective and his loyal friend, solving cases and being their season 1 and 2 selves.
> 
> The title is taken from a song by "Say Anything" (The Truth Is, You Should Lie With Me lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, 2007)

### 1

“I don't like this.”

“Yes, I know, you said. About twenty or thirty times – in the last five minutes…”

“Then why are we here, John?!”

“Because, Sherlock, we need more clients! I've lost my job and you've pissed off half the police and are behaving insufferably whenever you find a case boring. So far not a single client has ever returned to us with another problem and concerning at least some of them I doubt very much that they've lived happily ever after…”

“And you really think this _nonsense_ ,” Sherlock made an impatient gesture with his hand, “will bring us any _interesting_ cases?”

The doctor sighed. “I hope it will, yes. Or just any clients, honestly. Or would you like to move in with your sodding brother because we can't afford the rent anymore?”

Sherlock snorted. “Would be no problem – I would kill him on the first day so I'd either inherit all his possessions and his house if I got away with it or end up in prison where I didn’t have to bother about the rent…”

John pulled that long-suffering face that he had learned to hate over the years. “Sherlock – just try to be polite and nice and do smile a bit and in half an hour it will be over and we'll be showered with clients.”

“Who wants that even? And… God, who the hell is this?!”

John followed his look to the remarkable woman with the blue-red hair who had just entered the plain and ugly antechamber they had been waiting in, with Sherlock pacing the room impatiently since they'd arrived. “Oh. No idea. Some other guest I guess.”

“Tell me, John – what exactly is the motto of this broadcast?!”

He saw John shrug and before he could strangle him for not even finding out about this unimportant detail beforehand (and yes, he was cursing himself for not bother asking…) a man with nasty slicked-back hair and an overall oily appearance stormed into the now overcrowded room.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Please follow me into the studio. Oh, this is going to be such an interesting morning!”

*****

“Welcome to our live broadcast of 'Britain's Secret Secrets',” the blonde presenter beamed into the camera. Weren't they all blonde? Plus pretty and completely dumb? “You are watching 'RLC UK' and I'm Cassandra Carruthers, and our motto today is 'fortune tellers or charlatans?' Please welcome Mr Sherlock Holmes and his good friend Doctor John Watson and the self-proclaimed witch Lady Darklemoon!”

Sherlock smiled into the camera and mumbled, “I'll kill you.”

John chuckled. “Ah, I bet it's going to be a lot of fun.”

*****

“That was no fun at all…” John murmured when they stumbled into the broad daylight.

“These _idiots_!” Sherlock hissed, raising his hands to the merciless heavens. “How _dare_ they throw me and my deduction skills into one pot with this, this… wannabe-witch?!” He had been asked the stupidest questions he had ever heard, which really said something, and his ways of working had been turned into a joke!

“Yeah, it wasn't exactly what I expected.” Sometimes John was a master of the understatement.

“Oh _really_? You didn’t expect they would ask me if I read from small animals' bones like she does? Tell me – how exactly will this disaster bring us any new clients who are not completely insane?”

“I know! It was a mistake! Shoot me!”

“Did you bring your gun?”

They glowered at each other and then Sherlock took out his cigarettes and lit one, giving John a dirty look that said, _'Dare reprimand me for needing to smoke now!'_   but John wisely refrained from it.

He scolded him nonetheless. “You didn’t have to be so nasty to the weird lady though… Deducing her to shreds…”

“She's an imposter! She looks like the cliché of a bloody fortune teller and all she said was crap!”

“She did see though that you have a rather troubled relationship with the rest of the world.”

“Pah! I told her she sucked and her so-called powers weren't worth the ugly dress she's wearing! It wasn't that hard to tell that I don't get along with _people_!”

“True…” John nodded.

“You!”

Both men turned around in unison at the shrill voice. The woman in question was stalking over to them, her look like thunder and lightning. “How dare you make me appear like a fool for the whole of England to see?!”

“Ah, you're exaggerating. I bet nobody watches this bullshit…”

“And you forget the rest of our beautiful kingdom,” John snickered.

Lady Darklemoon, actually Emma-Louise Ronsworth in real life, ignored him completely. “You will regret this!” she snarled at Sherlock.

“Oh, I'm shivering! What are you going to do? Turn me into a frog?”

“That would be an improvement!” she retorted and John, the old traitor, giggled. “No, it's much worse!” she added dramatically.

“I can't wait to hear it.” Sherlock took a pull on his cigarette and blew the smoke towards her.

“I curse you!” she said in a theatrical voice, her black garments waving around her all at once even though there was not the slightest hint of wind. “From today, an hour from now, you won't be able to tell anything but the deepest truth to everybody you speak to, for three days!” she thundered.

Sherlock pulled a face, shaking his head. “Well, that's it? I _always_ tell the nasty truth; you should have noticed in there!”

She gave him a very nasty smile, turning the skin of her face into a mask of dangerous looking wrinkles. “Oh, you will see, Mr Holmes…”

“And what happens after these three days?” John asked her in a breathy voice, sounding stupidly intimidated.

“Everything will turn to normal. Only that your whole life will have turned upside down until then and what you've said once can never be taken back as you know. It’s out in the world and you will have to live with the consequences. Perhaps you will even learn a thing or two from it.” And with this she turned and a moment later she was gone.

Sherlock shook his head and snapped his cigarette away. “Dear God… I always knew it – women are _crazy_. Come, let’s get a cab and go home. And don't look so scared, man! You know I always tell people what I think about them! So what's the big deal?!”

John just nodded but the doctor - the war veteran, the fearless little man who didn’t have a problem to fight someone two heads taller and who pulled the trigger without hesitation if necessary - looked highly disturbed.

### 2

“It's not quite true, you know,” John said while taking off his jacket. “You don't always say what you think.”

Sherlock hung up his coat. “Is that so?”

“Well, you are blatantly honest most of the times, I give you that. But you also tend to manipulate people into doing things you want them to do. You can be very charming, you know… And they always fall for it. It's amazing actually…”

Sherlock snorted. “Is that a love confession, John?”

The doctor looked at his watch. “The hour is not over yet…”

Sherlock stalked into the living room and threw himself into his chair. “Nothing will happen after this hour! How can a man with a doctor's degree be so superstitious?”

“She was just… pretty convincing, don't you think? How her clothes were floating around her… How she walked a few steps and then just disappeared… It was creepy!”

“She just walked around the corner! And it was foggy!” Sherlock hissed, ignoring the indeed unexplainable part about the movement of her clothing. Probably some trick…

“Anyway… What will we do now?”

“Wait for the millions of new clients who will storm our flat to search for our services after watching this crowning moment of television?”

“You know, Sherlock, I don't really like your sarcasm!”

“You don't? And I thought you loved it…” Sherlock shook his head and got up to walk over to the kitchen. “I wonder what my set of eyes is doing…” How long since he'd put them into there? Three days? Sounded about right.

“Rotting in the fridge? The fridge normal people use to store food in?”

“You know – I wonder if she accidentally cursed _you_ instead!”

“I _always_ complain about you putting body parts in our fridge!” John shot back.

“Yes, and it never works so why don't you just let it be! And where is Mrs Hudson?! I want tea!”

John sighed. “I guess she went grocery shopping. I'll make the tea.”

“The first reasonable thing I've heard from you today!”

John just growled and ripped the kettle from the stove. Sherlock took out his – indeed fascinatingly rotten – set of formerly blue eyes and stalked over to the microscope. It was time to do at least something productive today!

### 3

“Two minutes to go, Sherlock.”

“Huh?” Sherlock looked up from his sample and rolled his eyes – his own ones, not the ones under the microscope. “Just forget this nonsense!” He stretched his aching back. He had been sitting bent over the table for too long.

“Uh-hu!”

“Ah, Mrs Hudson,” John greeted their landlady. “Back from your morning adventures?”

The old lady beamed at them. She was wearing a very colourful dress and her hair was charmingly tousled by the wind. “Yes! And I brought biscuits for our moody detective here! And you of course.”

“It was about time! I'm starving!” Sherlock grabbed for the package and opened it up impatiently.

“Oh, my poor baby! How was it in this television show? I recorded it so I can watch it with my ladies this afternoon. Tell me all about it!”

“It was the most abominable waste of time that I've experienced since your last Christmas party!” Sherlock snarled and then closed his mouth with an audible noise.

“Sorry?” Mrs Hudson said, looking at him with eyes full of hurt. “You said it was nice!”

“Come on – enduring your old friends, very literally, and their senseless chattering! Eating that dry cake! The punch was ghastly! It was hateful!”

 _My God… This is not really happening, is it?_ The words had just toppled out of his mouth without any chance of controlling them.

Mrs Hudson started sobbing. “How can you be so mean, Sherlock?!”

“Um…” John seemed to chew on words to explain it but then he closed his mouth again.

Sherlock understood why – how would it have sounded? _'Sherlock was cursed to tell the truth so yes, that's what he actually thought about your party'._ It wouldn’t have made anything better… “I'm sorry, Mrs Hudson,” he brought out because yes, of course he was sorry. He had never wanted to hurt the old lady who had always been so kind to him.

“Don't worry, Sherlock. You will never have to endure any of my parties anymore!” And with this she turned and run out of the flat.

The two men shared a long look and then John said, 'Well then. So much for wannabe-witches.”

“Oh, shut up, John! She just planted that in my head! She manipulated me!”

“Be that as it may. It works…”

Sherlock nodded darkly. Three days… How many people would he verbally tear to shreds in three days?

“You might need an exorcism,” John said helpfully.

Sherlock took the package of biscuits and threw it towards his head.

John stepped aside and caught the package without even looking at it. He tutted. “Nasty move. What will you do now? Apologise to her again?”

“And what will I tell her? Remember – I can't lie!”

“Damn, yes. You know, living with you will never get boring…”

“I'm glad to serve as your entertainment!”

“It doesn’t seem to work between the two of us,” John mused. “I mean, would you be able to be that sarcastic if it did?”

“That's not much comfort… And you know what this is all about. And actually – I reckon you wouldn’t be shocked by anything I could tell you anymore…”

“Very true…”

And then Sherlock's phone signalised a call. “Oh. It's Lestrade.”

“He either saw us on telly or has a case.”

Sherlock knew he couldn’t avoid the entire world for three days and damn, he needed to occupy his brain, now more than ever! He took the call. “Lestrade. Another case you're too stupid to solve on your own?” He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. _Dammit!_

There was silence for a couple of seconds, and then Sherlock heard the inspector sigh.

_“You're getting more charming with every day, Sherlock… But yes, I have a case. Can you meet me in the morgue?”_

“Sure. And sorry for saying what I really think about you…” _Fuck!_

 _“Never mind. It was hardly a secret!”_ And with this Lestrade ended the connection.

Sherlock and John shared a long look. “That's going to be very interesting,” John stated then.

Sherlock was rather sure he was right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock spends some time with Greg and Molly. And gets a phone call...

### 4

Sherlock mumbled a 'hi' when he entered the autopsy room. He avoided the gazes of both DI Lestrade and Molly Hooper, concentrating on the corpse on the stretcher.

_Male, about fifty, twenty pounds too much, stabbed in the throat, under the ear, strange place, computer freak, never went outside, resentful ex-wife, partner in…_

“Sherlock?”

He looked up, biting his lip. “Mm?”

“You and John were on television this morning I was told? How was it?” DI Lestrade was looking at him expectantly and without a hint of anger about Sherlock's nasty words from their phone conversation.

It wasn’t as if he hadn't heard anything awful from him before after all, Sherlock mused. Water off a duck's back and so on. “Horrible,” he mumbled and pressed his lips together at once after that one word.

“Yeah, it was a bit strange,” John threw in. “Wasn't one of my better ideas… Anyway: what can you tell us about the body?”

“Are you all right, Sherlock?” Molly asked, coming closer to him.

Sherlock looked onto his shoes and shook his head. _Great_ … He couldn’t even lie with head movements…

“What happened?” she inquired in her usual persistent way, her hands on her hips.

Sherlock felt John's hand on his shoulder. “Ah, sorry, we don't have much time. A client is waiting for us, so if we could get straight to the point? The case, I mean.”

Molly nodded but her eyes didn’t leave Sherlock for a moment while she was explaining what she had found out about the dead man already.

Lestrade kept on staring at him as well. “What's wrong?” he asked in a tone full of concern when Molly was finished - Sherlock hadn't even heard a word she had said, too focused on being calm – and silent.

“Everything is wrong!” he blurted at Lestrade's question now, feeling he couldn’t hold the words back anymore. They were forcing themselves up to his mouth, from God knew where… “This is a boring case, even a complete _idiot_ could see he was stabbed by his business partner so you should be able to, too!”

Lestrade sighed. “Come on, why are you so nasty today?”

“Because this damn woman cursed me, forcing me to say what I really think!”

Sherlock watched Molly and Lestrade share a look and he almost expected to see one of them make a gesture with their hands – like waving it from one side to the other…

“Is that true?” Molly turned to John, the voice of reason, while Lestrade was just staring like a dog that was seeing snow for the first time – stunned and bewildered.

John shrugged. “Yeah. He didn't want to believe it but it seems it works. So we have to endure a brutally honest Sherlock for three days before he'll be himself again.”

Molly stepped closer to Sherlock. “And what do you think about _me_ then?”

 _Oh God…_  As if he shouldn’t have seen that coming… “You… are a very good pathologist,” Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth. Perhaps he _could_ control what he was saying after all? If he really, _really_ tried?

“Oh, thanks. That’s good to know. And besides that?”

“Molly…” John said, shaking his head. “Don't put so much pressure on him.”

She ignored him. “What do you think of me as a person?” she continued mercilessly.

“You're… loyal and… nice,” Sherlock rasped out, his right hand balled into a fist.

“So would you go out with me?” she asked and John groaned next to him.

“I… I'd rather cut off my toes and _eat_ them!” Sherlock blurted, and she paled.

“God,” John mumbled. “Now that was clear… Really?”

Lestrade was shaking his head in utter confusion. “You want to tell me you've been… _bewitched_? You?! The defender of science himself? You believe in…magic?”

“No! But still it's true!” Sherlock yelled. “Sorry Molly! It's not your fault! I mean, _yes_ , you're unnerving with your disgusting way of making cow eyes at me whenever we meet, but basically I'm just gay and if I ever dated anyone, it would be a tall man with a big dick and not any girl and certainly never _you_.”

He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands when she ran out of the autopsy room, sobbing. Actually he could be glad she hadn't taken a scalpel and slit his throat… He was close enough to fetch one and cut his treacherous _tongue_ out… Perhaps John could reattach it when this was over if he put in the freezer?!

“Bloody _hell_!” the DI brought out.

“Yep. Sums it up correctly,” John agreed.

“Why did she have to insist on it!” Sherlock howled. She had been actually begging for him to reject her, hadn't she?

Lestrade shook his head. “Poor girl. I could have told her as much… So… You know what's next, right?”

“Don't do that, Greg! You've just heard what happens if you force him!” John warned him. “And you'll still need him for solving cases, right?”

Lestrade shrugged. “Sure. Still I'd love to hear what you think about me. I mean, you were rather clear on the phone already but… anything else you've always wanted to tell me? And don't worry – I'm not quite that sensitive, and I'm not in love with you after all… And since I'm neither tall nor blessed with a big dick, I'm hardly in danger of getting asked out by you. So just shoot, no need to hold back!”

Sherlock gave him a desperate look, feeling words he didn’t even know yet bubbling on his tongue. And that was the worst part of this curse (and if he was brutally honest to _himself_ , he believed in it by now…): now that he was trying to force them back wherever they had come from with all he had, he realised that he didn’t _know_ which words would come out of his mouth! It was as if this curse was bringing his deepest, completely hidden feelings to the surface without him realising them until the words fell out of his mouth like an egg out of a chicken! _'Perhaps you will even learn a thing or two from it'_ the witch had said. He had to agree on this; in fact he was learning what he was really thinking and feeling about certain people and he only did when throwing insults at their heads…

And then the words erupted from him like an unwelcome but inevitable orgasm. “No, you're not my type; you're too short and too old; I'm not into grey hair and your lips are way too thin, and I do think you're an idiot but basically because _everyone_ except for my brother is an idiot compared to me and you're a much better cop than all your colleagues; I mean, you're not able to solve some of your cases but you know when it's going over your head and you're strong enough to admit you need help and you're a truly good guy and I like you and you've always been a fatherly friend for me, always believing in me, and I'm glad you let me work on your cases and I owe you a lot; I can't remember your first name but still you're one of the best people I've ever met.”

When he was finished, he was panting and sweating as if he had run a marathon instead of delivering a highly embarrassing speech.

Lestrade and John stared at him with their mouths open; for a long moment nobody said a word.

Then the policeman shook his head. “My God, Sherlock! I'm… I don't know… That's… Wow. I'd have never thought you think about me like this.” He smiled at Sherlock and closed the distance between them to pat his shoulder. “Thank you!”

“It wasn't entirely flattering,” Sherlock mumbled but Lestrade just laughed.

“No, but I had expected something way worse than this. And you're right, Sherlock. I'm your friend and I'll always be and it's a pleasure to work with you, believe it or not. You're crazy and sometimes unbearable but I wouldn’t want you any different. Oh, and my first name's Greg if you want to make another attempt at remembering it but if you forget it again, it's no big deal at all because I like you very much with all your treats and flaws.”

“God, did she curse _you_ too?” John brought out after another moment of stunned silence, and Sherlock and Lestrade both burst out laughing, and somehow Sherlock was feeling a lot better.

It was not all bad obviously! He and Lestrade _(no, Greg!)_ were good!

Well, he had been nasty to Mrs Hudson and Molly though but he was sure they would forgive him. One day. In a distant future… Perhaps…

He sighed. It still sucked… And it was only the first day!

### 5

Sherlock had spent the cab ride home sitting on the edge of his seat, chewing his nails - something he usually never did. John looked at him from time to time but he didn’t say anything.

To Sherlock's relief, there was no client waiting when they returned to 221B. He didn’t have any idea how to face strangers in this vulnerable state.

When he had let himself fall into his chair, he retreated into his thoughts, trying to judge and analyse the situation he had found himself in so unexpectedly. No matter if this woman had really cursed him or just hypnotised him or secretly drugged him or something – he had to accept that he was under some influence and would have to endure this phase of biting honesty, and he could only hope it would really end after these three days…

He had learned something already and not just his own feelings for Greg Lestrade (as well as the man's first name. Again.). He had learned that he had in fact never been really honest with the people who probably considered themselves his friends. So did he, after all.

Greg with his loyalty and understanding and calm acceptance of his many weird habits and his sometimes (okay, _always_ ) challenging behaviour. He was a rock for Sherlock and no matter how much he'd rolled his eyes about him not getting the easiest deductions he knew Lestrade was smart for an idiot and someone he unconditionally trusted.

Molly did get on his nerves with these constant displays of unwelcome feelings but he did rely on her and he trusted her and without this curse or whatever it was, he would have never said something that hurtful to her because he did value her; yes, of course he'd always used her feelings for him for manipulating her into doing things he needed to be done like providing him with body parts and a space for more complicated experiments. Life would just be so much _easier_ for both of them if she could finally forget her silly feelings for him because he would only reciprocate them if the sun started to go around the earth. Or was it the other way around…? Anyway! It would _never_ happen and one should think after about five years of working together she should be aware of that! What he had said was all true but he would have kept it to himself, and not just because he needed her.

And Mrs Hudson was like a mother to him, which meant he rebelled against her like he used to do with his real mother. He had always hated to attend family meetings and listen to boring, mindless conversations and yes, he hated Mrs Hudson's Christmas parties, too, but he would have never told her because he was very fond of her and he would have never hurt her on purpose.

So basically he had learned that telling the pure truth was not always a good thing. In fact it _sucked_ most of the times… And he had learned that these people liked him very much and were hurt by his ghastly words.

“It really bothers you,” John stated, putting a cup of tea onto the table next to his chair.

“Yes,” Sherlock said darkly and took his phone out of shirt pocket to put it onto the table. He had been ignoring all incoming texts since they had left that sodding studio. “It's horrible. I think I'll sleep a bit now. If a client turns up, which I doubt very much, just send them away.”

“We can't send everybody away for three days.”

In fact they really could but Sherlock knew what he meant. “Perhaps it will be gone tomorrow,” he said without much hope. “Or I can deal better with it tomorrow. But today…”

“All right. You lie down and get some rest; this all must be very disturbing for you. I'll be the watchdog.”

“Thank you, John. Without you I really wouldn’t know how to cope with this.”

John smiled. “It does work between the two of us after all! So – what do you think about me?” he asked with a twinkle.

“I think you are a nosy, insufferable arse who is both the most obnoxious and the most loyal friend anyone could wish for,” Sherlock said but it was different – he had known these words before speaking them out. The spell didn’t influence his behaviour towards John. He had always known what the doctor was worth to him and he had always been honest with him.

John laughed out loud. “Okay, I get it, that's the real you. I mean, the not-quite-real you. I mean, damn, that's complicated!”

“It isn't. I don't need a filter for you. I've always told you what I think about you because I know I don't have to hide anything from you.” It had changed his way with John though – he would have never put this into such clear words if dealing with the others hadn't turned out to be so challenging. It had never been with John and he was grateful for it.

The two men shared a smile and then Sherlock walked over to his bedroom to hopefully sleep this madness out of himself.

### 6

Sherlock dragged himself into the living room. He had tossed and turned on his bed for an hour and then taken an involuntarily cold shower that hadn't improved anything, either.

“Anyone asked for me?” he mumbled while sitting down, feeling like an old man. Who would have known dealing with emotions was so exhausting?

“No one rang the doorbell but your phone was rather busy. Took a look – your brother and your mother, most of the times…”

Sherlock sighed. “I bet they both saw this ghastly show…”

“You think your brother has time to watch telly during the day?”

“I bet one of his minions told him about it. And perhaps he stalked me again and knew where we were going.”

“Yeah, probably. Will…”

The phone rang again and Sherlock took it. “Mummy,” he said darkly after looking at the display. He could ignore her call but he knew her – she would try and try until he couldn’t endure it anymore… He steeled himself and answered the phone.

“Hello, Mummy.”

_“Sherlock!”_

“Yes, it's me.”

_“I've seen you and your doctor on television today!”_

“He is, in fact, not _my_ doctor. I mean, yes, he has stitched me together a few times but he's not in the way you are implying! We're not fucking.” He groaned in unison with John and heard his mother gasp.

 _“Sherlock! How_ dare _you talk to me in such a vulgar tone!”_

“Did you want anything special? Or just admonish me like you always do?” Sherlock swallowed and he saw John's face darken.

_“I… I… You were very nasty to this poor woman in this show!”_

“Well, I thought she was a stupid imposter and it pissed me off to be compared with her as if my deduction skills were the same as reading from mouse blood!”

_“Not in this tone, young man!”_

“Why not! It doesn’t matter what I do – it's always wrong! Mycroft, your golden boy, can't do anything wrong but you have never done anything else than criticising me for basically everything I did!” He closed his eyes and almost sobbed when John joined him and put a hand onto his shoulder.

_“I… This is… It's not true! We don't prefer your brother to you!”_

“Of course you do! And why not – he's the perfect son and so successful and powerful but you know what – when you come to visit us in London, he begs me to take you so he doesn’t have to spend time with you! Not that _I_ wanted to do take you out for your stupid musicals and plays and all that boring stuff!” He hammered his flat hand onto his forehead and whispered, “John, shoot me, please!”

John took the phone from his hand. “Mrs Holmes? – Yeah, it's John Watson. Listen, Sherlock has a rough time at the moment. In a few days it will all be fine. Just forget what he said. – Yes, I'll take care of him. – No, not in that way… Goodbye, greetings to Mr Holmes.”

He ended the connection. “Wow, Sherlock. This is tough stuff.”

“Mycroft will kill me…”

“Ah, no, he will just give you one of these _'woe is me'_ looks and roll his eyes and sigh and talk himself out of it when she confronts him. If she believes you at all…”

Sherlock nodded darkly. “Yeah, why should she. I'm the druggie, the loser, the unpredictable boy. A burden for the entire family. I bet they are glad that Mycroft is now carrying it on his own since they live so far away from us…”

“I'm sure they love you, Sherlock. You didn’t make it easy for them when you were younger but they won't think about you in this way anymore. Why should they? You're not a loser! You're a celebrity, someone the police needs to help them out. You're awfully smart and you don't do drugs anymore.”

“Parents always see you in the way they did when you lived under their roof. They will always compare me to Mycroft and I'll always lose.”

“I think you should go to them and talk to them openly about this when everything is back to what passes as normality here.”

Sherlock shrugged. “What will it help? And what does it really matter? They are old and will die soon.”

John grinned and patted his back. “Now, now, Sherlock. Do you want some tea?”

“Tea won't solve my problems.”

“No, probably not. A drink?”

“Better…” A drink wouldn’t make this mess disappear either but perhaps it would make it a little more bearable…

“On my way.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft comes to visit Sherlock in Baker Street. They might be in for a surprise.  
> Mycroft goes to a park to deal with his feelings.  
> Plus: Sherlock is called to a crime scene.

### 7

It had been inevitable of course but nonetheless Sherlock closed his eyes in horror when he heard the doorknocker being straightened. He was close to go hiding in his bedroom and pulling the blanket over his head but he knew he had it coming and it was probably better to get it over with. How bad could it get? He had thrown every insult under the sun at Mycroft's head already after all.

“My brother will be here in one minute,” he informed John.

“What, are you now able to… Oh…” Obviously John had heard the steps of the British Government. “Let me talk to him, just try to be silent.”

“Yeah, I bet that'll work…”

“We can try! Better than you insulting him with his weight and his pompous suits and… Mycroft! What a nice surprise!”

Mycroft, who had shamelessly used his key to get in, gave him a look as if he had found him under his shoe and then turned to Sherlock. “Brother, what is wrong with you? Mummy called me and I've been trying to reach you all day because of this ghastly television show and…”

The words had been gathering in Sherlock's throat and now they blubbered out of him with full force. “You look great!” _What?! What did I just say?!_

Mycroft shut his mouth and stared at him with an amount of confusion that certainly nobody had ever seen on the face of Mr Perfect. “Sorry?”

“You've lost weight; not that you would have been overweight before but now you're even slimmer. Your hair shines beautifully and damn, I love your tight trousers; they accentuate your crotch so perfectly and boy, is there a lot to accentuate! You're bloody _sexy_!” Sherlock was very close to getting up and running through the closed window head first.

Both John and Mycroft were looking at him with wide eyes and open mouths and it would have been a very funny sight if the situation hadn't been so awful.

“Um… What?” Mycroft's face had taken a very bright shade of red. He looked completely embarrassed and shocked but… There was something in his eyes that resembled… hope? _Nah!_ If it was really hope, then it had to be the hope that he had not heard correctly…

“Never mind, Mycroft, he's just high,” John brought out the only excuse that made sense in this moment.

“High?! What did you take?!” Mycroft thundered, his expression turning to anger (and… disappointment?) within a second.

Before Sherlock could honestly answer 'nothing except for half a glass of brandy an hour ago' (which he was trying to avoid with all he had by biting his tongue really hard) John took Mycroft's arm.

“I'll take care of him, don't worry. He had a hard time after this television show and made a stupid decision but he'll be fine, trust me.” He had guided Mycroft to the door in his iron soldier grip and Mycroft, looking exasperated, disturbed and God knew how else, let himself be manhandled out of the door in an untypical display of weakness.

“But…” he started but John just shoved him into the stairway and gave him a false smile.

“It was nice of you to drop by! Give him a few days and then he'll be himself again!”

Sherlock couldn’t hear Mycroft's reply anymore and then the door was closed – and locked –behind him. Mycroft must really be shocked, otherwise John would have never been able to get him out of the flat. Well, who could blame him…

“God,” John mumbled. “What… What was that?”

Sherlock was tearing at his curls. “I don't know! Kill me, John, please! I… I fancy my brother…”

John let himself drop into his chair. “You said if you wanted to date someone, he would have been male, tall and… hung… Well…”

“No, no… This is a nightmare! Is it a nightmare?!” Sherlock hit himself in the face – with his fist.

“Hey, stop that!”

His ears were ringing and his cheekbone was hurting but otherwise, nothing had changed. It wasn't a nightmare. It was the fucking truth… And why had he even tried and hoped? His tongue was already bleeding and burning from biting it so hard; he would have certainly woken up from _this_ pain by now.

“You must avoid him at all costs until this is over,” John said pragmatically.

“Is that all you have to say to this?!”

“What do you want to hear? Funny thing is – it doesn't even surprise me that much.”

“What?!”

John shrugged. “Well, I've always wondered how someone you would want to date had to be. Normal people with normal intellects and behaviour either bore or annoy you to death. Or both. I mean, you do have… urges… Sometimes I can hear you…”

“Oh God…”

“Hey, every man does it! Nothing to be ashamed of! I bet you hear me, too…”

Sherlock closed his eyes. He did, from time to time. He usually reached for his earplugs and turned on some classical music then.

“What do you think of when you…”

“John! I don't want to talk about that!”

“Right, okay but… Not of him?”

“No! I had no idea that I… God… Don't you understand? This… _curse_ doesn’t just force me to tell the truth. It forces me to deal with emotions that not even _I_ knew about before!

“Perhaps they are not real then. You just make them up under this pressure and…”

“No, John… I wish this was the case. But as soon as I'm directly confronted with that respective person, I dig these emotions up from wherever and the words form themselves and when I speak them out, I know they're real. It's like, voilà, here they come and they don't go away afterwards!”

“So you do…”

“Yes!”

“Well, as I said – it makes sense. He is far from normal and plain and he's probably every bit as smart as you.”

“He used to say he's the smart one…” And he was. Plus he was tall and good looking and eloquent and interesting… and his fucking _brother_! “It's _incest_ , John! Don't you get it? It's illegal and forbidden and Mycroft would not take me if I was the last man on earth!”

“Ah, not so sure about that. I mean – he's not dating anyone, is he? Has he _ever_ dated anyone since we've known each other? Any of the _goldfish_ as he calls people like me?”

“No. Not that I know of.” Not that Mycroft would have told him anyway. But no. Sherlock was rather sure his brother hadn't dated anyone in ages. He was much too grumpy for that whenever they met and it couldn’t always be Sherlock's fault…

“And he is most certainly gay.”

“Yes, he definitely is. He used to make out with boys at the university; they used to call him on our parents' phone when he was at home during the holidays…”

“And what did you think about that?”

“I hated it! God… I totally forgot about that. I used to hang up when they called…”

John laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like you… So you were jealous of him being with others even back then… Or just a brat that didn’t want to share his brother. But as you're sure that now it is indeed romantic longing - what will we do about it?”

“Nothing! We can't do anything! He will never want me, that's clear as day!”

The doctor shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. I see why you don't want to risk that. As long as you don't meet him again in the next three days, you can still pretend it was the drugs talking…”

Sherlock nodded, feeling even more exhausted than before all at once.

“I still think you should give it a try when it's over,” John mumbled. “A careful try…”

“You would really support that? An incestuous relationship?” Not that it would ever happen.

“Why not? You're both grown men. It's only your business. Neither of you will get pregnant after all…”

Sherlock felt his cheeks flush at the thought. He could see himself peeling Mycroft out of his fancy suit and touch his bare skin and…

The doorbell rang.

“Thank God, a client.” Everything was better than thinking of his impossible feelings for his brother! Sherlock was sure it would be another devastating situation but hey, it would distract him at least!

“Are you sure you want to…”

“Yes! Let them in!”

Five minutes later Sherlock's cheek was burning from the slap the resolute woman with the missing cat had given him for being snarky and nasty and he fled into his bedroom to leave that first day in hell behind, leaving it to John to send everybody else who might show up away.

### 8

Mycroft had returned to his office just to let his colleagues know that he would be off for today. He had fetched a few reports he needed to work on and left again, foregoing taking a car.

He slowly walked through the streets of St. James and with every step he was feeling sadder and darker despite the bright sunshine and the surprisingly warm air, not even mentioning angrier at himself. What had he been thinking? That after all those years of pining and hiding his misguided feelings, Sherlock had suddenly fallen in love with him? How stupid could anyone be!

Sure, Sherlock had never complimented him, and when he'd been high, he had usually been even nastier to him than in a sober state so it had been a completely new experience. And Sherlock's words had been clearly not brotherly. Mycroft wondered which drugs he had taken to reach this state (and he tried not to think, _'And where do I get more of them?'_ ). And he hadn't seen Sherlock buying any drugs. But his brother was smart after all. If he wanted to get high and avoid his attention, he would find a way. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

He had reached St. James Park and sat down on a bench after cleaning it with a few wet wipes. He glanced at all the laughing people who were chatting or holding hands or just holding their faces into the rare sun or playing with their dogs or little children.

Not for the first time he envied these normal, plain humans, so easy to please and so capable of going through life without burdening themselves with high responsibilities – and forbidden feelings for their siblings.

He sighed. He had never even imagined – okay, well, perhaps he had _imagined_ – Sherlock could return his feelings but to allegedly see that happening and then being told it was of course not true was very cruel. Perhaps just the right punishment for somebody as depraved as he was…

“Mr Holmes?”

He winced and looked up. “Oh. Detective Inspector. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise!” Greg Lestrade beamed at him. “Mind if I sat down?”

“Not at all. I cleaned the bench.”

“Of course you did. Does it bother you if I go on eating?”

Mycroft looked at the package with fish and chips in his hand and politely refrained from grimacing. After all he had witnessed aristocrats and VIP's of every kind eating much worse things in his presence… “Not in the least.”

“Want some?”

“No!”

Greg grinned and put a long French fry into his mouth. “Met your brother lately?” he asked in a casual tone after chewing and swallowing the potato slice. At least he was too good-mannered to talk with his mouth full.

“About an hour ago.”

To his surprise Greg Lestrade chuckled. “That does explain your frowning face… What niceties did he throw at _your_ head?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Molly Hooper cried her eyes out, the poor thing. It's not as if she couldn’t have known it long ago but… it is different to be told the truth so rudely.”

“I don't understand. Which truth? And… What is this all about?”

“They didn’t explain it to you? Well, he told her he would never go out with her as he's into tall men with… um, you know, certain treats. I mean, I'd known he's gay; it's hard to miss…”

Mycroft shook his head. “And why did he tell her that?” It seemed surprisingly rude, even for Sherlock. And… his brother was into men with… what?

“So they didn’t mention it at all. Strange. You know about this television show?”

“Indeed.” It had been the reason why he had been trying to reach Sherlock all day. How could he boast about his skills in such an arrogant way? How could a Holmes be so impolite in live television?

“That woman he gave a hard time there – she…,” Lestrade chuckled and made a rather nasty noise with his nose, “cursed him.”

“She did what?”

“Yeah. She's a witch, she says, and it looks as if she is indeed. Now he has to tell everybody he meets the full truth. No manipulating, no niceties. Not that he tends to do that otherwise… But I've never seen him like this. He struggles with it like mad but whatever he says seems to be what he indeed thinks.”

“Sherlock… has to tell everybody… the truth?!”

“Yeah. After three days the spell will stop working, she said. Well, I can't wait to see if that's true.” He ate a piece of fish, chewing happily.

Mycroft's head was spinning. It all made sense, in a completely weird sort of way. Sherlock's terror after saying this to him; as if he hadn't even known himself before what he would tell him let alone had planned to say it. John more or less pushing him out of the flat before Sherlock could answer which drug he had taken. And damn – Sherlock hadn't seemed to be high! He knew his brother and he had seen him in this condition often enough. How could he have fallen for that?

Not that what Lestrade had said was any easier to wrap his mind around… God… How was that even possible? Bewitched?! Sherlock of all people believed that? But he was obviously convinced then that what he said to people was the truth, wherever it may come from.

So Sherlock had told him what he was really thinking about him?

Sherlock… liked him?

Sherlock… found him… appealing?

Sherlock… desired him? 

 _'You're bloody sexy!'_ was echoing in his mind.

“You're okay, Mr Holmes?”

“Splendid. I think I've been sitting in the sun for a bit too long though. If you excuse me now?”

“Sure! You pale Holmes boys can't endure our fierce English sun for that long!” Lestrade patted Mycroft's arm. “But I'm still curious… What did Sherlock tell you?”

“He said… nothing. Doctor Watson didn’t let him.”

Greg chuckled. “Probably for the better. I mean, it's clear that he admires you and everything, but he's also always pissed off about you… being a bit overbearing in his eyes. I see the necessity of course but _he_ …”

“Yes. These young people. Always rebelling against authorities. And… What did he say to you?” If it had been another love (?) confession, he would know it hadn't meant much what Sherlock had told him…

The DI smiled. “I was very surprised to hear that he thinks I'm stupid but not as stupid as my colleagues and that he sees me as a fatherly friend.”

Mycroft tried to hide his relief and nodded. “I've always known that. He trusts you.”

“Yes, he said. Well, you know I'll never let him down. At how many hospital beds have we met already to visit the poor lad?”

“I can't remember,” Mycroft said. “Too many though…” How often had Sherlock been close to a lethal overdose? Before John had appeared in his life, he had been a loose cannon. Mycroft wasn’t that fond of the doctor because of his cheeky personality but he had to admit that so far he'd had a good influence on his brother.

“Yeah. He needs someone to, you know, ground him. John does his best of course but one day he will have a serious relationship and then Sherlock will be a lot more on his own again. But – he will always have you and me and perhaps he's now old enough to have learned his lesson.”

Mycroft nodded. “I'll make sure he'll always be all right.”

“Of course you will. Me too. But now better go before the sun strikes you. You look really… flushed…”

He could say that again… Mycroft bade him goodbye and stalked out of the park to get a cab home, and he doubted he would work on these reports that much today.

He needed time to focus now.

Focus on the fact that his little brother seemed to really return his feelings.

It was a thought to pass out on…

### 9

“That's not a good idea, Greg.”

 _“Damn, you_ do _remember my name now!”_

“Yeah. Anyway… Just take some photos and send them over and I'll see what I can make of it.”

_“Nah, not possible. This is an important case. Son of a member of the House of Lords. Can't make any mistakes here. And it looks really interesting.”_

Sherlock sighed. “All right. We'll be there in about half an hour.”

_“Great! Thank you, Sherlock. I owe you something.”_

“You already owe me much more than you could ever pay back.”

Greg chuckled. _“True. But you said something similar about me, remember? See you!”_

“Yes. And yes.” Sherlock ended the connection. “Well, looks we have a case.”

“Man, you've been more excited about that in the past…”

“The past is the past because it's the past, John.”

John theatrically opened his eyes wide and reached up to his heart. “You've become a philosopher, Sherlock? Not sure if I can take it!”

“You will take my _fist_ if you don't shut up.”

John laughed. “Where?”

“Oh God…” Sherlock groaned and stalked out of the living room. “Spare me your low puns!”

“Nope. It's too much fun to wind you up.”

“Arsehole…”

“Truth-teller!”

Sherlock couldn’t help but snicker when they clattered down the stairs but his grin died when he turned to see Mrs Hudson's door closed. She had not shown up since he had been so nasty to her the day before. He had heard her rummaging downstairs but so far he hadn't dared go to her, not wanting to make it even worse. And he hoped he wouldn’t have to go the morgue for the remaining time of this… condition. And he really didn’t want to imagine seeing Mycroft again… His brother wouldn’t fall for the lie about him being high a second time.

*****

Sherlock was about to turn around on the spot and enter the cab again when Lestrade took him by the arm.

“Where are you going, Your Majesty Consulting Detective? The body is over there!”

“Yes, along with Donovan! And Anderson!”

“Well, I need them, don't I?”

“No!”

Lestrade chuckled. Sherlock thought the DI had way too much fun with this mess. John just grinned and shook his head, being as little helpful as he could get.

“Come, Sherlock,” Lestrade said. “You've really never tried to pretend you like either of them. It can't get any worse!”

Sherlock had learned since the past day that _everything_ could _always_ get worse (or he would have learned that if he hadn't known it already…). But he let himself be dragged to the crime scene – a shabby property in a shabby quarter. What the hell had the son of a Lord done here?

“Hi Freak,” Sally Donovan greeted him in her usual way. “There to save our… behinds again?”

“Your _derrière_ , Donovan, is your best asset,” came out of Sherlock's mouth before he could clap his hand over it.

John and Greg laughed like teenage boys and Donovan glared at him as it was to be expected. “Are you hitting on me now, Freak?”

“I was simply stating that your _behind_ is worth more than your head. And I'd rather hit _you_. I'd say I don't hit women but I'm not convinced you really are one.” _My God…_ Sherlock wondered if his existing aversion to her made it so impossible to keep silent. It made him realise how little he really liked her after working on the same cases for years. Or how much her constant belittling of his powers was pissing him off? Was he even hurt by it?

“Hey, you can't talk to my -, to her like this!” Anderson snarled from the side.

“Your what, Anderson? Your secret girlfriend? Come on, the entire Yard knows you're fucking like rabbits even though you're still married. Although I have no idea what she sees in you; she's more of a man than you'll ever be.”

And then Sherlock saw stars when Donovan's fist collided with his face. “You bastard!”

“That's enough! Donovan – apologise to him!” Greg didn’t sound amused at all anymore.

“No! You heard what he said to us!”

“And was he wrong? I mean about that last part? I don't think so.”

Donovan swallowed hard. “You never said anything… sir.”

“It's nice that you remember that I'm your boss. And as your boss I'm telling you to work together with Sherlock, not against him. You should know how important he has been to us for ages! I don't want to hear you call him 'Freak' another time! And now say sorry for hitting him!”

“This is…” Anderson began but Sally glowered at him now.

“Shut up, Phil! If you had got divorced by now, we wouldn’t be the joke of the Yard anymore!”

“Oh come on! I have children in case you forgot! I can't just say 'goodbye' to my wife because you're a good lay!”

“That's all I am to you?!” Donovan screeched and then it was Anderson who was holding his burning cheek and she stormed off without listening to Greg shouting after her.

“My God,” John mumbled. “What a nasty scene.”

“I knew I shouldn't have come,” Sherlock mumbled, gingerly touching the increasing swelling her fist had caused. Probably he would develop a black eye. Great…

“It's not your fault in the least,” Greg soothed him. “As _she_ didn’t say it – I'm sorry for this all, especially for the blow.”

“I'll survive it. Will you fire her?”

Greg sighed. “She's a good cop, believe it or not. I don't want to lose her but she has to work on her temper…”

“Would be helpful, yeah,” John mumbled. He patted the pale forensics expert on the shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

Anderson nodded. Then he glowered at Sherlock. “I _am_ a man, you know?”

“Technically yes,” Sherlock mumbled. He was so fed up with this all. He just wanted to go home and not see anyone for the rest of the day and the next one. But to be fair – this escalation would have probably happened someday anyway, curse or not.

And then he bit his lip when he realised that this was true about all the confrontations that had taken place and the resentments and truths that had been spoken out since it had started. Perhaps it would have taken years but his feelings would have been there anyway – towards his parents who were never happy about anything he did. Towards Molly who would probably never stop annoying him with her unwelcome desires. Towards Greg who really deserved better than the way he had treated him before. To Donovan who had never accepted him, and Anderson who was just… Anderson… And he wasn't sure if he would have been able to endure one more of these ghastly Christmas parties Mrs Hudson was throwing…

And then there was his brother. Perhaps the only exception. Would he have ever realised that he did, in fact, like him? Like him more than he should? Not that this realisation was a welcome one or something to accept so easily…

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about him the night before. Had remembered all the happy times they'd had when he had been a little child and Mycroft his caring big brother, teaching him everything he knew. And Sherlock had tried to be the best in everything, just to impress him. When had this ended and why? Little by little, they had grown apart until nothing had been left than estrangement and resentment. Mycroft had hardly visited him and their parents anymore, being all busy with his government duties, and Sherlock had behaved like a brat whenever they had met ever since, earning rightful exasperation and impatience from Mycroft.

He had to make that better. Of course Mycroft would never be anything else than his brother but Sherlock didn’t want them to be on opposite sides anymore. As soon as everything was back to normal, he would try to have a better relationship with him. Would Mycroft even want that?

Yes. Of course he would. He had never dropped him, no matter how nasty Sherlock had been to him. He had always been waiting humbly (albeit with eyes rolling like a carousel) in the shadows until Sherlock had needed his help… He had sighed and shaken his head but he had always taken care of anything that needed to be taken care of. Sherlock had never thanked him for it but now he was appreciating it. And more, obviously… Somewhere along their difficult, weird way of dealing with each other he had fallen in love with his brother. He had unwillingly praised his physical advantages but of course Mycroft was so much more than long legs, a cute arse, pretty blue eyes and an impressive crotch. He was super smart and, no matter how cold he pretended to be, caring and kind, at least as far as Sherlock was concerned. He had been very funny as a boy even though nobody would believe that anymore. Now he was all sophisticated, smug perfection but Sherlock knew it better. Under all these layers of three-piece-suits and manicured fingernails and cold arrogance was a very appealing, very interesting man. And Sherlock would love to get to know him. Since that could never happen in any romantic way, he would be content with having back the brother he had admired and relied on so much…

“Sherlock!”

John's harsh tone ripped him out of his thoughts. Probably his name hadn't been uttered for the first time…

“Yes?”

“The body,” Greg said softly. “Could you have a look at it now?”

“Sure,” Sherlock mumbled. Back to work and then back home, and then one more day until he could start repairing his brotherly relationship with the British Government…


	4. Chapter 4

### 10

“Oh, hi Mycroft. Um, this isn't a good time.”

“Is it not, Doctor Watson?” Mycroft gave the shorter man an affable smile that would have scared little children away with its cold insincerity. His façade was in place. At least towards the doctor.

As an ex-soldier he wasn't that easy to scare of course. He scratched his head, tousling his already unruly blond hair even further.  “Yeah, he's just got up and… You know how he is in the morning. Nasty and snarky…”

“You mean exactly like he is during the rest of the day?”

A grin tore at John's mouth. “Well. Worse!”

“I wonder if you just don't want me to see him because he's still under the influence of illegal substances even though you promised to take care of him,” Mycroft said in a thoughtful tone, tilting his head and straightening his already very straight tie.

“Oh, no, he's completely sober,” John retorted and then paled.

Mycroft allowed himself a gleeful smile and unceremoniously shoved him aside, using his greater size as an advantage. Last time John had caught him off guard and had been able to remove him. It wouldn’t happen again. “Excellent. I need to talk to him. I'm sure you have somewhere else to go.”

“But I _live_ here! And no, you can't see him now!” The panic in John's voice was stored in a special room in Mycroft's mind palace after a tender petting of its pretty head.

“I beg to differ.” Nobody denied Mycroft Holmes entry and certainly nobody denied him access to his little brother – apart from Sherlock himself, of course.

The Sherlock he found sitting on his bed, looking at him with fearful eyes like a dog which had eaten the carpet and feared its punishment for its disobedience. If the bedroom door had had a key, he would have certainly locked himself in. Not that this would have kept Mycroft from getting to him…

Sherlock had his hand clamped over his mouth. He had a bruise under one eye. Obviously he had told someone another unwelcome truth… Only that in Mycroft's case it hadn't been unwelcome at all of course.

Mycroft eyed him closely, his heart beating a tad too fast.

“Please, leave him alone,” he heard a shivery plea from behind. That rare tone, music to Mycroft's ears, was sent to another precious room in his mind palace. Oh how nice to see and hear the doctor so meek…

Mycroft was blocking the door so John couldn’t get between him and Sherlock. “Go, Doctor Watson. Your presence is neither required nor welcome. If you're not out of this flat in ten seconds, Anthea will come and fetch you. And she is still rather upset about the last time you tried to, let's say, get to know her better…”

“But that was _months_ ago!”

“She's very resentful. And she has a black belt in karate. Just go, John. I'm not here to harm him.” Mycroft had finally turned around to the doctor. “Do you really think I would?”

“Nah. But… For your own sake and Sherlock's, please, leave him alone.”

Mycroft stared into his eyes. This look had made much bigger men shiver in fear. “Can he rely on you? Whatever happens?”

John swallowed. “Of course he can.”

“Do you trust me to never do anything that would hurt him?”

A deep sigh followed. “I do.”

“Then please – give us some privacy. And I do hope your discretion is guaranteed.”

John's eyes widened when he finally seemed to understand why Mycroft was here. Mycroft could have waited until Sherlock wasn't that vulnerable anymore and he could catch him alone. But he needed Sherlock in this condition to be absolutely sure that what Mycroft was feeling for him would be welcome, no matter how forbidden and scandalous it was and how much he had hated himself for feeling like this for the past nearly two decades. And no matter what had really caused Sherlock's state, it was definitely still working so whatever he said would be the truth. Mycroft had to seize the opportunity or forget it forever… Which he knew he should have but just couldn’t do…

“Um, yes, sure. Discretion is my middle name.”

“That's not true. It's Hamish.” Sometimes it was fun to be very literal…

“ _Hamish_?!”

Mycroft turned to Sherlock who was staring at John, grinning all at once.

“Now I know why you always refused to tell me!”

“Shut up!” But John was grinning, too. “Is it okay if I go and leave you two alone?”

“Since you totally failed at being my watchdog and keeping him out, you can go anyway.” Sherlock was joking of course but Mycroft could see the fear in his eyes. Not fear of John but of the confrontation with him…

“Call me if you need me. Or when I'm allowed to come back.”

“Much obliged,” Mycroft said and stared at the blond man until he finally retreated. Then he closed the door and leaned against it.

For a long moment neither of them said a word.

Then Sherlock shook his head. “Lestrade told you what happened with this woman.”

“Yes. I met him completely incidentally. Sometimes the universe does seem to be so lazy… I did buy the drug story even though it was blatantly silly… You didn’t seem drugged.”

“I just drank some brandy. Otherwise I was totally sober. I don't do drugs anymore! It was just the only explanation John could think of in this moment.”

“I know, little brother. May I sit down?” Mycroft gestured at the chair in the corner that was almost buried under Sherlock's clothes.

Sherlock nodded. “Just throw the stuff onto the floor. Mummy would be appalled, I know…”

Mycroft did as he was told. “I'm not here to control your cleaning habits, Sherlock. Is it… true? What you said?”

“Why are you doing this to me! You know it if you spoke to Greg! Why do you want to torture me with it?”

“Can't you deduce?” His voice was so quiet that he hardly recognised it himself. This was the most important moment of his life and he was appropriately nervous now that they were alone.

And then Sherlock paled and his eyes opened up so wide that Mycroft feared they were about to join his clothes on the floor. “You… feel the same?!”

“For ages, Sherlock. I fought it, I cursed it, I sought to bring more distance between us to hide it – and managed to lose you almost completely…” Mycroft sighed. “That we stopped getting along – it was my fault.”

“No. That's not true. I was the one being against everybody and everything.”

“That's the privilege of youth, Sherlock. Rebellion against authorities. It's completely normal. My reactions were not. I'm sorry.”

“There is nothing you have to be sorry for. Not for telling me to do better and not for… feeling what you feel. I'm a man. I can deal with it.”

“But you only realised the way you feel when you spoke it out?”

“You had deduced that much? It's true.” Sherlock seemed to relax a little now. He was still terrified but they were getting somewhere. Wherever that was…

“So you would have never done if this hadn't happened. Whatever _this_ really is.”

“If you really feel about me like I feel about you, I'm damn _grateful_ it happened!”

Mycroft stared at him in awe. Never in his life would he have expected to hear such words from his brother. How guilty he had been feeling for so long. And now…? That John Watson had heard Sherlock's raptures was unfortunate but nothing they could change anymore (apart from letting him disappear of course but he assumed Sherlock wouldn’t approve of this solution…). And John had understood before Sherlock and he had ensured his discretion. “I'm so torn, little brother. I should tell you we can't do anything. I should leave your life completely so you can forget about your feelings. There is so much at stake. And believe me when I say my career is not the first, let alone the most important matter I'm thinking of. Your wellbeing…” He stopped when Sherlock jumped from the bed.

“My wellbeing was always your priority. I was too stubborn to see it. Now I do. I mean, yes, you're overprotective and annoying but only for my own good. And you are so much more than this. I want this, Mycroft. And I'll still want it the day after tomorrow when I'm myself again as I hope. It's nonsense anyway – I was myself all the time; I've just had access to my inner feelings more than before and I've had to put them in words instead of hiding them. I won't forget my feelings for you and I don't want to!”

And then Mycroft was urged to get up and a moment later their mouths crashed together in a filthy, messy, clumsy kiss that made Mycroft's knees get weak and his heart race, and his arms wrapped themselves around Sherlock's waist and they kissed and kissed until both of them almost dropped from the lack of oxygen. Then they parted for air just to kiss some more.

### 11

“Oh fuck…”

Sherlock looked up to John. His head was still dizzy, his lips were sore and the silly grin didn’t disappear from his face. “No. Not yet…”

John threw himself into his chair. “So he… confessed his undying love for you?” he asked with a disbelieving grin.

“Something like that… He said he always… And he felt so guilty… I shouldn't tell you that, should I?” Mycroft hadn't forbidden him to talk to John about it though. John knew it already after all… and had even encouraged him to make a move on Mycroft!

“I don't want any details! Even though it wouldn’t really surprise me if you told me about it anyway when you get to this… But… You're good about that? You think you can deal with this? An incestuous affair with the coldest fish in England?”

“You even said I should! And he's not like this!”

“Nah, course he's not. Not to you. Never believed that. You just seemed to think he's your worst enemy…”

Sherlock shook his head over himself. “I've been in love with him forever and never got it. And he was in love with me every bit as long and hid it from me because he was convinced what he was feeling was wrong. And he… more or less removed himself from my life because of that. When he started working for the government, he hardly came home anymore and when he did, he kept his distance.”

He recalled these times and how sad it had made him until he had covered the sadness with wrath and nastiness.

“I thought he wasn’t interested in me anymore and behaved worse and worse towards him. But not because I hated him as I thought back then. I just hated to be rejected by him. It was love, John. Desire… More and more and I never understood it. Until now…” He had been remarkably blind for so long. This truth had waited in the deepest corner of his heart and this curse had chased it out of its shell from one moment to the other. The power of magic? Or the power of love? _Thinks the detective who's convinced that sentiment is a chemical defect…_ She had been right, the witch. His life had been turned upside down… And no - he didn’t want his old life back…

John scratched his head. “That's… terribly romantic in a typically weird Holmesian way. I guess you two have a lot to talk about…”

“We will. Tonight. He had to go back to work for a meeting and some other stuff he spends his days on. I don't really know what he actually does all day, John, except for actually ruling the country in some shadowy way. I don't know my own brother at all.”

“That happens in the best families,” John said darkly, clearly thinking of his own sister Sherlock had still not met once since John had moved in with him. “Perhaps I should call Harry,” he mumbled then.

“Yes! Do that! Probably you won't experience what I do…”

“God no!”

Sherlock grinned. Then he swallowed. “I might…We might… Do something.”

“You mean…”

“Yes! How? I have no idea how this works!”

“Really? Never seen a porn film?”

“No! Well… For a few minutes maybe. And I'm not stupid – I know the basic mechanics. But that's something entirely different!” He got even dizzier when he just imagined touching Mycroft. Kissing something else than his mouth… He felt his cheeks flush.

“Of course it is. Just tell him. He will understand. And he will never force you to do anything you don't like.”

“No, he won't. But I might be a total idiot when it comes to sex…”

“He'll teach you. And if you don't feel comfortable, you can still let it be.”

Sherlock nodded. He didn’t want to though. He wanted it all. Wanted to experience all these mysterious and wonderful things he had always turned up his nose at, dismissing it as a waste of time at best. Mycroft would show him and he knew he would love it. Not tonight, certainly. But soon…

### 12

Sherlock walked down the stairs, deep in his thoughts. It was time to take a cab to Mycroft's house. Mycroft had texted him that he would be at home in half an hour. Probably Sherlock would arrive before him but he had a key after all and he didn’t want to wait any longer than necessary. This was such an adventure…

The front door opened when he had reached the bottom floor, and Mrs Hudson came in with three heavy-looking bags, almost stumbling when the door swung back. Sherlock instantly hurried to help her.

“You allow?” he asked shyly after catching the door so it wouldn’t hit her again.

Mrs Hudson looked at him and then she smiled and a heavy weight was taken from his shoulders and he smiled back and took two of the bags and led the way to her flat, stepping aside when she arrived.

“I bought some food for my next party,” she said while unlocking the door.

“Mrs Hudson…”

“Ah, I'm joking. Come in.”

“Um, I need to…”

“Just for a minute?”

“Yes. Of course.”

He followed her into the kitchen and helped her store the groceries. Then he sat down at the kitchen table with her.

“I suppose you don't have time for tea?” she asked.

“Not today. Tomorrow, if I may?”

“Oh, Sherlock. I'm sorry I reacted so stupidly. Of course my parties must bore you. All those old people, talking about nothing but their illnesses…”

Sherlock nodded. “It's ghastly. But I don't want you to think that I don't like you. I do. A lot. You've been more like a mother to me in the past years than my actual mother.”

“Sherlock! I'm so happy to hear that. Even though of course your mother is still your mother.”

“That's perfectly true,” Sherlock said dryly and they both chuckled.

“What I meant is that nobody can replace her. I'm here and she's not so I probably know you better than she does, at least regarding your daily life and what moves you these days. Even though sometimes it's hard to tell what does also for me.”

“She doesn’t know me at all. And she never wanted to.”

Mrs Hudson sighed. “It's not easy. A boy like you, so smart and complicated. Of course she has problems to understand you.”

“She was a mathematician, Mrs Hudson. Mycroft and I got our brains from her.”

“I see. I'm sure she loves you a lot.”

“She loves Mycroft more.” Only that this wasn't true, was it? Mycroft was as foreign to her as he was. He had just always been way easier to handle. He was so manipulative and able to fit in seamlessly wherever necessary. He was so smart and smooth, his big brother…

And God he had to avoid this subject at any costs.

“Where are you about to go?”

“To Mycroft.” So much for this… “I… want to get to know him better.”

“Suddenly?”

Sherlock just nodded and gave her a forced smile. _Please don't go on asking…_

“You look flushed though. You're not having a fever, have you?”

“No! I'm fine. And sorry. Sorry that I must leave now. Sorry for what I said.” He could have explained it to her but he really didn’t want to. And definitely not now. The less he said about it before he could control his words fully again the better.

“It's okay, Sherlock. I understand. I will spare you my next party I think.” She smiled when she said it and Sherlock took her hand and pressed it carefully.

“It's better I think. We can have our own party. Just you and me and John. And Greg, maybe.”

“And the lovely Miss Hooper!”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Not a good idea.” Molly would hate him forever. He would apologise to her. When it was over. But like the witch had said – his words could not be taken back and Molly knew they had been the truth. Not much to repair, was there? Would she ever let him do experiments in the morgue again? Give him body parts?

But he actually didn’t really care. There was only _one_ body he was interested in right now and the things he would hopefully be allowed to do with it would be so much nicer than whipping a corpse or cutting it open…

He stood up. “I got to go now. And I hope we can have tea together tomorrow.”

She nodded. “But you didn’t answer my question about Miss Hooper.”

“I didn’t even hear you asking anything,” Sherlock confessed. “It's a long story, Mrs Hudson. I’m going to tell you soon. And now I have to go see my brother.” He bent forward and brushed a kiss onto her wrinkled cheek, and he smiled when she chuckled happily. “Thank you, Mrs Hudson. For everything.”

“My dear boy. I don't know what happened to you but I like this new version of you very much.”

It would stay. Sherlock would in all probability not be forced to tell the truth anymore from the day after tomorrow on (and hopefully be able to speak more eloquently again when he didn’t have to watch every word anymore) but he would not forget the lessons he had learned.

And now he would go to learn his brother.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers finally share some alone time :)

### 13

Mycroft wasn’t in the least surprised to find his alarm turned off and the door of his house closed, but not locked.

He didn’t find Sherlock at once though; after calmly walking through his huge house after a short stop in the kitchen, he finally discovered him in the library – not reading but glancing at the crowded shelves.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you coming.” Sherlock, dressed in tight black trousers and a purple shirt, turned to greet him and did so by kissing him fiercely.

Mycroft thought he could absolutely get used to being welcomed in such a way – having an armful of deliciously smelling, freshly shaved and showered Sherlock, kissing these impossibly soft lips and feeling his arms around his neck. Usually he was welcomed by exactly nobody. His housekeeper came twice a week and only for four hours in the morning on those occasions. He hadn't seen her in years. And even if he'd had, he wouldn’t have been kissed by old Mrs Koerner…

“Fascinated by my hundreds of books?” He hugged Sherlock close, feeling indecently happy about the look that was directed at him. He remembered all the looks he had got from his little brother over the decades – from curiosity to admiration, from anger to contempt or indifference at best, from mockery to sheer ice. Now the admiration was back, mixed with sexual desire and, more important than anything else, trust. And he would never disappoint Sherlock's trust in him. He would never talk him into doing something he didn’t want.

It was a shame that, if Sherlock had really been 'cursed', the spell would stop working so soon because Mycroft was sure nothing would happen tonight and probably the next one, either. No matter for how long he had been craving it – it would have been too soon. But now he would have been able to be sure his advances would really be welcome. He only hoped Sherlock would continue to be honest with him. And continue to love him, in whichever way. If Mycroft just got to be his beloved brother, he would already call it a huge success. He did want more, of course he did, but as he would have never imagined he would be graced with it, it would not destroy him if he didn’t get it in the end. Nothing mattered but Sherlock's health and happiness.

“They tell me a lot about you,” Sherlock answered his playful question seriously. “You're interested in so many subjects.”

“As you are. It's in our nature.”

“Do you ever actually have time to read anything of this?”

Mycroft smiled. “Hardly. But I use to take a book to bed so I can read a few pages before I fall asleep.”

“I want you to take me to bed and read me instead.”

Mycroft laughed. “Yes? That's what you want? It makes me so happy, little brother. But promise me…”

“I know, I know. I'll always honestly tell you what I want or don't want. Even though I'm sure there's nothing you'd want to do with me that I wouldn’t like. Well, of course, if you suggest sharing the bed also with others or if you wanted to spank me or pee on me or…”

“Sherlock! That is never going to happen! What sort of fantasies do you think I have?” Mycroft was seriously shocked.

Sherlock grinned sheepishly. “Just browsed a bit through some porn sites to be, you know, better prepared…”

Mycroft shook his head and hugged him even closer. “I will never ask you for anything icky. I don't want anyone else in my bed! Who should that be? John? No, thanks!”

Sherlock giggled. “And I can imagine he would like that… He pretends to be all straight and untouched by your icy sexiness but in reality…”

“Oh, stop it, please!” Mycroft grinned when Sherlock chuckled against his neck. “We will figure out everything, Sherlock. No need to fill any precious space in your brain with nasty porn pictures. We will just explore one another and see what we both enjoy. If you want that at all and will still want it when this so-called spell has disappeared.”

“Nothing will change then, Mycroft. Apart from me being able to decide again what I will tell people. It does suck to throw nasty truths at everybody's head even though I'm very grateful for it in your case as they are not nasty at all.”

“Do you have any theory how this worked? How she did that to you?”

“None. I assume she is just, well, a witch.”

“I owe her a lot.”

“So do I. My black eye for example…”

Mycroft laughed. “Yes, I meant to ask – who was that?” He did have his suspicions and Sherlock confirmed them a moment later.

“Sergeant Donovan. But to be fair, I was very rude to her…”

“So you don't want me to talk to her about hitting my little brother?” He narrowed his eyes dangerously, only half joking. He didn’t exactly approve of violence against Sherlock, justified or not, woman or not. He had met her once. She _was_ scary…

Sherlock smiled brightly at him. “She would give you a thrashing you'll never forget.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised… Come now, dear, time for dinner. I got something from a restaurant on my way home. Do you still like lasagne?” He knew that Sherlock had done so as a boy but such preferences could change. He didn’t know these little things anymore but he was very willing to learn them all.

Those glorious blue-green eyes lit up like firework. “Lasagne! Yes!”

So some things _didn’t_ change after all. Mycroft brushed over Sherlock's unruly hair, overwhelmed by how much he loved his little brother. In every possible way. For a long time he had been thinking one of them was wrong. But somehow he couldn’t get himself to think that anymore. “Good. Let's have dinner.”

*****

All the tension and the restlessness of the past two days had left Sherlock. The spell was still working, he could feel it, but right now it didn’t bother him anymore in the least.

During (the fantastic) dinner Mycroft proved to be a very pleasant colloquist. He was very attentive with serving Sherlock food and wine and he channelled their conversation to innocuous topics such as music and the eccentricities of the Royals. Sherlock knew only half of the names but he had to laugh out loud a few times about the stories Mycroft told him about Princess _This_ or Duke _That_.

He was simply feeling entirely comfortable in Mycroft's presence and he could just so refrain from drilling a hole into his head with his knife for missing out on this for so long. They could have had this for ages – nice, friendly conversations over good food, spending time and getting to know each other as adults. And the worst part was that Sherlock was sure he would have discovered that he desired his brother if he had ever bothered to spend an evening all alone with him like this. He wouldn’t have needed this bloody curse for this then…

Mycroft smiled at him after wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Going down the 'what-if-path' is an utter waste of time, don't you agree?”

“Behaving like a brat and hurting you for twenty years was a much bigger waste!”

“Possibly. But there is not much we can still do about it, is there?”

“No.” Sherlock shovelled the last bit of his lasagne into his mouth and let the rest of the wine follow. “This is very nice, Mycroft. You've wined and dined me, very literally. And now I want to go to bed with you.”

Mycroft laughed out loud. “God, Sherlock, I'll miss these outbursts of honesty very much. Perhaps we should confront you with this woman again so she can prolong her spell?”

“I'm rather sure she'd choose something new then, like making me being impotent for the rest of my life…”

“Oh. No, we wouldn’t want that…”

“Really not. So you will have to cope with the normal Sherlock.”

“Define that.”

Sherlock grinned. “Bastard. I love you.” _Oh wow… I just really said this!_

Mycroft swallowed hard. “God, Sherlock… So do I. Of course I do. I've loved you forever. And I forever will.”

“You still fear I could change my mind when I'm back to my normal, um, _usual_ self,” Sherlock stated.

Mycroft sighed. “I really trust you when you say that won't happen. It's just that it came so unexpected and I've wanted you for so long. It's simply the fear of losing what I never thought I could have.”

“I understand that. And it will be my pleasure to prove you wrong. I will start right now if you let me.”

“It's too early, Sherlock.”

“I thought so, too, before I came here. But it's really not. I want you. Now. In every way you feel comfortable with.”

“That should have been _my_ text!”

“Spare your breath for kissing me.”

“You're incorrigible!” Mycroft stared at him in awe.

“Now that is really nothing new.” Sherlock got up. “Bedroom?”

“Well, as you asked so nicely – bedroom.”

### 14

Sherlock looked around while sitting on his brother's large bed, admiring the bright, neat bedroom with the tasteful pictures and overall friendly atmosphere. It was a room to relax and come down from a long, exhausting day at work. He smiled at the Dickens' novel he spotted on the nightstand. His brother really had broad taste in literature.

Mycroft had excused himself to take a quick shower and shave his stubble. Sherlock would have accompanied him but he assumed Mycroft wouldn’t be too fond of that; he had already been rather squeamish about his personal hygiene as a boy. And Mycroft wasn't forced to tell the truth after all and Sherlock could see the danger of his brother saying 'yes' to actions he didn’t really want to not scare him off. He would have to be very careful to not overwhelm big brother. Mycroft had, after all, spent so many years cursing himself for feeling about Sherlock in ways that society condemned, and he was still very stunned and a bit shaken to finally get what he had desired for so long.

Sherlock couldn’t have cared less about any norms of society but he had no intention to end up in prison, let alone sentence his brother to punishment and the loss of his career. He was aware that they had to be very private about this. He trusted John with his life and he knew he would never give them away.

Everyone else had to be left in the dark about this. He assumed Greg, albeit being a policeman, wouldn’t betray them either, and Mrs Hudson would only worry that he could suffer from this and could get soothed by Mycroft but Sherlock didn’t want to risk anything. And he didn’t want to tell anyone anyway. Mycroft was his lovely, sexy secret. He was glad though he would be able to talk to John about it. John was sometimes very helpful – if he didn’t force him to go to television shows… And in the end even this had turned out to changing his life for the better so much after all, apart from some remaining difficulties that he really didn’t want to think about right now…

Mycroft came back in an odour of body wash, toothpaste and eau de cologne. He had bothered with clothes but Sherlock couldn’t remember having seen him in comfortable black jog pants and a black t-shirt before. He looked so good with his still damp hair and his bright blue eyes that Sherlock feared his tongue would start hanging out.

His appreciation was obvious enough for Mycroft to visibly relax. He opened his arms and Sherlock jumped from the bed and more or less threw himself into them, claiming another frantic kiss. Whatever they would do, tonight or at a later point, Sherlock wondered if he could love it any more than he loved kissing his brother. But he would definitely love to find out.

Despite his cheeky behaviour before, he was nervous though. Who wouldn’t have been? He had gone through an emotional rollercoaster during the past two days and now he was alone with the man he had only just realised he had been in love with for ages, the man who had been part of his life since he'd opened his eyes for the very first time.

Mycroft sensed his feelings. “Are you having second thoughts?” he asked him seriously, looking into his eyes.

“Not one!” Sherlock exclaimed without hesitation, and Mycroft smiled.

“Well, that was convincing enough. But you _are_ tense.”

“Just because I've never done anything like this. And I never thought I would. What if I totally suck at it, and not in a good way?”

Mycroft chuckled. “There is no right or wrong, little brother. Let's just try to not severely injure each other and spend one another some pleasure instead. This isn’t a test nor is it a competition. And we won't go that that far tonight. I told you it's too early.”

“Yes, yes. You're right. As always!” Sherlock bit his lip. This had come out way too resentful.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows for a moment before he smiled again. “Old habits won't disappear so soon I think.”

“I'm sorry. Didn’t mean to snarl at you.” Sherlock was feeling cold all at once. Was he already messing this up? What sort of an idiot was he?!

But then Mycroft put his warm hand onto the back of his neck and kissed his cheek and he simply melted. “Help me getting this right,” he mumbled, and Mycroft pressed him close with his other arm.

“I'll always help you with everything, Sherlock. Everything will be fine and if you change your mind…”

“I will most definitely not.” And then Sherlock slid his right hand under Mycroft's shirt, feeling his warm, hairy stomach, and he closed his eyes in wonder. When he let his hand move higher, he could feel Mycroft's heart beat against his palm and he searched for Mycroft's lips again and they kissed while his hands continued exploring his soft skin, even probingly poking at a nipple, and he moaned into Mycroft's mouth when his brother shoved up his shirt and put his large hands onto his back, pressing their groins and therefore their erect cocks against each other, and he knew everything would be fine. He was in the best of hands, very literally.

And then it was him who dragged Mycroft to the bed, and he giggled when Mycroft fell on top of him, chuckling against his lips, and they didn’t let each other go for a single second.

### 15

If Mycroft had ever been a randy teenager, he would have probably felt and acted exactly as he did now. Entangled with his still more or less dressed brother, pressing him down with his weight, fumbling with his arse through his trousers and pants, being touched by Sherlock everywhere his brother could reach – it was the most amazing moment in his life so far, and it was only just the beginning.

Somehow they peeled each other out of their loosened shirts and their trousers, pants were slid down over frantically moving bodies in between fumbling with every already bare piece of skin.

Sherlock's skin was so smooth and felt as slick as an otter, his mouth was busy with kissing Mycroft's mouth, chin, cheeks and even his nose while he was somehow managing to pull off his socks.

They were both giggling and panting and it was all highly embarrassing and weird and wonderful.

Why had he wasted so many years with feeling guilty for his feelings? With telling himself he just couldn’t feel about his little brother like he did? What had he reached with this? Being unhappy and unsatisfied, depressed and empty whenever he couldn’t distract himself with his job. Getting estranged from the one person that mattered to him up to a point where Sherlock had considered him his worst enemy. Great! How _smart_ he had been!

He didn’t care about morals and standards and how-to-behave now. Between the two of them it was just a waste of time.

Only three things were important to him now: not hurting Sherlock with anything he did in whichever way. Not let anyone – apart from the inevitable Doctor Watson – know about this stupidly forbidden relationship. And making them happy. Sherlock and himself.

He looked down on his brother who had calmed down a bit in his movements now that they were both naked, their erect cocks lined up next to each other, pressing against the other's one's groin. His eyes were bright and sparkling and his smile said it all – he was happy.

And he winced when a little voice in his head added, _'At least he is right now…'_

He pushed it away and smiled at his brother, and Sherlock smiled back before glancing at his chest, and then he reached up to pull at some chest hairs.

“Ouch,” Mycroft said, grinning.

“So hairy, my big brother. Who would have thought!”

“Does it bother you?”

“No! It's hot!”

Mycroft smiled. Now and tomorrow he would get only very honest answers from Sherlock. He had to use this time wisely. “Do you think my cock is big enough for you?”

“It's big enough to please an elephant!”

This time Mycroft laughed out loud. “Ah, brother. So is yours by the way.”

“Must be because we're related.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said, getting serious, “do you really not have any qualms about this? Are you sure you want to break this taboo, live with all the consequences? There is no easy way to go back. Which doesn’t mean I will ever force you to continue a sexual relationship – not that I even could if I wanted that. But if you discover it's not what you want – can you promise me you won't kick me out of your life for good? Because… I would learn to live with losing you as a lover; after all I've never expected this to happen at all. But I could never live with losing you completely…” What would happen if he could never see Sherlock again? Not even as the brother in the shadows, always there to clean up after him or helping him to get out of one mess or the other? He wasn't sure he would survive that. Literally…

All at once Sherlock's eyes were wet. “I am absolutely serious about this, Mycroft. This is not a game or an experiment or curiosity. I am curious of course and I am a bit scared that I won't be able to satisfy you but I'm rather sure you will tell and show me what you need. And I want to give you all you need and I swear that I will never, ever drop you. I doubt very much that I will ever not want you as my lover but in the very unlikely case that this happens – you will always be my brother and nothing will ever make me not love you.”

There was so much sincerity in his voice that Mycroft's throat got tight. He was a man of reason. He knew there were no guarantees, for nothing. Sherlock could change his mind or meet someone else and Mycroft would fight for him if the latter happened but never if Sherlock just decided he didn’t want this forbidden relationship anymore. Sherlock was not his property and he never would be. He was his little brother, his family, and he would love and defend him until the day he died.

“Promise me the same, Mycroft.”

“Oh Sherlock. That's very easy. You've always been the one and there never will be a change of heart for me.” Because somehow he _could_ guarantee for his own feelings. He'd had them for so long that they had become an integral part of himself.

“Good,” Sherlock said softly. “And now I want to touch you. Please?”

Mycroft kissed his lips and then turned to lie down on his back, presenting his long limbed body to his brother. “It's all yours if you want it.”

“I do,” Sherlock assured him, and then Mycroft closed his eyes in pleasure when he was thoroughly explored.

*****

He was so soft… Not everywhere of course. Sherlock nibbled at his collarbones and felt his biceps. But his skin… Under the wiry black hair, it was soft and warm and delicious. Sherlock kissed his way from one side to the other, paying special attention to the two erect nipples that felt like little pearls under his tongue. While he was busy licking one of them, he was teasing the other one with the tip of his forefinger.

Then he moved southwards. More hair, more soft, warm skin. Mycroft didn’t have hard stomach muscles like he did. He was slim, much slimmer than he had always been as a boy, but there was flesh, and Sherlock loved it.

“Sorry for the diet jokes,” he mumbled while kissing his way down on the beloved body.

“Never mind. I'm so perfect otherwise that this was the only thing you could tease me with,” Mycroft said, winking. His left hand was stroking Sherlock's shoulder constantly.

He had meant it as a joke but Sherlock could only agree. “That's true. And not even this was justified. It's unfair. You're too perfect.” He kissed Mycroft's navel.

“Mummy told me what you said about me. You know that's not true, don't you?”

Strange – they had never spoken about this subject before for the last two days. It seemed so unimportant now…

“She likes you more because you're a good boy and I'm the bad boy,” Sherlock stated. “It's okay. I'll call them as soon as the curse has stopped working and say sorry for this latest act of the drama of Sherlock Holmes.”

“I don't want you to think you're the black sheep of the family!”

“But I am! I've always been!”

“No, Sherlock! You're just the youngest. The more… complicated child. You have always been so much more emotional and that made dealing with your enormous brain even harder for you. But you're making them so proud with your occupation and your fame for a lack of a better word. Nobody thinks you're a loser, Sherlock, and nobody ever did! We've always just wanted to help you.”

Sherlock smiled at him, his hand sliding over Mycroft's hard thigh. Running on the treadmill did pay out obviously… “You definitely have. I was so… pissed off when you sent me to rehab though…”

Mycroft reached out and stroked his face. “I hated to do it. But I was so afraid one day I or someone else would find you with a needle in your arm and… It was horrible to see you like this, little brother.” He seemed to want to say more but bit his lip instead.

“You never will again. I swear!”

“I really hope you'll never feel the need to do this again. You can reach me anytime. My phone is always on. If you ever feel so bad again, so bored, so desperate – tell me and I will come, no matter what I'm doing.”

Sherlock thought that he was very serious but he couldn’t be always there for him. He was in meeting all the time, and sometimes Mycroft even had to leave the country for his duties. Whatever it was he was actually doing. “You must tell me about your job,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“Not now! But soon. I want to know you. Know how you're spending your days. What you dream about. What your favourite colour is. All these little things that people find out about each other when they meet and… fall in love. I should know all this already but I don't. I don't want that anymore. I want to know you inside out. Well… Literally and not.”

Mycroft laughed. “Oh, Sherlock. I know exactly what you mean. Why don't you make a list? With everything you want to know? And every time we're together we'll pick one question and both answer it.”

“That's a great idea! I'd like that sort of list.”

“Yes, Sherlock. So would I.”

“Let's just start with learning though. Do you like it when I do this?” Sherlock grabbed Mycroft's half-hard cock and stroked it firmly.

Mycroft moaned and Sherlock nodded.

“Yes, I think you like that.” And he went on pumping, watching mesmerised how the large appendage in his hand turned dark-red and started to leaking fluid out of its engorged head. Their cocks were built similar in length and girth but Mycroft's member was shaped differently and Sherlock thought it was a very nice shape. The flesh felt hard and soft at the same time on his fingers and Mycroft's balls were as hairy as his torso and very big, bigger than Sherlock's round, smooth ones. Sherlock thought that he would spend a lot of time exploring the differences between the two of them…

Mycroft was moaning only quietly just as Sherlock had expected, but there was no doubt that he was enjoying Sherlock's ministrations. His pupils were blown wide and his lips were parted, his breath was increased and he was not lying still but shuddering.

And then he groaned and pressed his head back into the pillows and some impressive spurts of white come shot over his stomach and Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock didn’t hesitate for a moment. He bent over him and licked at the stickiness, rolling it over his tongue.

Mycroft had shuddered through the aftermaths of his climax and was watching him in awe. “Do you like the taste?”

“Yes. It's a bit bitter and cheesy but also sweet.”

“That sounds disgusting…”

Sherlock grinned. “It's really not. Want to taste?”

“No, thanks! But I would like to taste _you_ if I may…”

Sherlock beamed at him and threw himself into the pillows, presenting his body to his brother. “Pretend I'm an 'all-you-can-eat'-buffet.”

Mycroft laughed. “No food jokes, little brother!”

“I'm sorry for ever hurting you, Mycroft. I wanted to because I thought you had left me behind and only looked after me because you felt obligated to do it.” _Damn…_

Mycroft shook his head, closing his eyes. “I've failed you so badly. Just to protect you from my feelings…”

“That was very stupid of someone as smart as you.” Sherlock winced at this mood-destroying sentence but Mycroft smiled softly.

“Yes, brother mine. It absolutely was. Can you forgive me?”

“I told you before – there's nothing you have to be sorry for. I love you.”

“I love you, too, little brother.”

“Good. And now suck my cock, please, if you were about to do this before I said such stupid things.”

“You could never be stupid, Sherlock.” And then Mycroft took him into his mouth after covering his mouth and face and neck and chest and stomach with kisses, and for the five minutes Sherlock managed to last until coming heftily down Mycroft's throat with hoarse cries, it was the bloody best thing anyone had ever done to him.


	6. Chapter 6

### 16

Sherlock woke up from carefully being shoved from his brother's body. He had obviously not moved the entire night, sleeping peacefully in Mycroft's strong arms, draped over him like another blanket.

“No…,” he mumbled. “Can't go now.”

“I'm afraid I must, little brother.” Mycroft kissed his forehead while bending over the bed and Sherlock grabbed for him to drag him back. “No, dear. But I hope you'll come over tonight?”

“Of course I will! Not even a firing squad could keep me from coming here!”

Mycroft laughed. “I do hope nobody will send one for you telling the truth.”

Sherlock mused about that for a moment. Was there anyone left? Except for nameless, faceless clients? No. Not really. He had managed to insult nearly everybody he met regularly already. Well, he could go to _Angelo's_ for lunch but he would only tell his old friend that he made the best pasta in the world and he could tell him anytime. And he would. Because there were truths that he could speak out, that didn’t cause any damage but the opposite. Like what he had said to Mycroft. And to Mrs Hudson when he had apologised to her. The truth was not always nasty. And normal people were so fond of being complimented after all. Well, so was he, actually.

“I want to have sex with you now,” he said, his hand wrapping around his hardening cock, pointing it towards his brother.

“And I want that as well but I have to go to work.” Mycroft went over to the wardrobe to take out a fresh shirt and underwear.

“Bloody work! I hate it! I hate that you'll always be working when I get horny during the day for the bloody king!” _My God… I sound like a petulant schoolboy!_ But it would be like this, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t just go to Mycroft's office and demand a blowjob, and the thought of how this had felt last night made him get even harder in an instant.

Mycroft looked as if he didn’t know if he should laugh or feel offended. “We have a queen, in fact.”

“Ah, sod that! I don't care what we have! It's nothing but a useless figure without any real power that takes you away from me.”

“Well, as impolite as this was, it's not that far from the truth,” Mycroft conceded. “And yes, unfortunately we can't be together during the day. But I have to work. I like my job. Yesterday you said you wanted to hear more about it.”

Sherlock sighed. “Yes. I'm sorry. Just don't want to let you go now that I have you.” He really didn’t like that whining tone. And he was rather sure Mycroft didn’t find it overly attractive either. One more day and he would be his usual self. The question was if this self would be so much different in that regard. He didn’t really think so…

“And I feel very flattered and I assure you I feel the same.” Mycroft had chosen all the clothes he needed and put them neatly onto a chair. He sat down on the bed. “I'm afraid I'm not in a very sexy mood in the morning. Not that I've ever woken up next to someone…”

“Neither have I! It's okay. I will take a cold shower and spare my seed for tonight.” He really didn’t want to use his right hand now. What a waste that would be! Every drop of this precious essence should be Mycroft's from now on!

Mycroft smiled and tousled his hair. “Tonight we're going to have lots of time to enjoy ourselves.”

“Will you let me fuck you?”

“Um. Perhaps not tonight. I think this step…”

“No, I mean, sometime. In a week or a month or whenever?”

“I highly doubt you will be able to wait for a month,” Mycroft teased him. “But yes, of course you can top me. I have no experience whatsoever in being on bottom but not because I loathe the sheer thought of that. I just never wanted it with anyone else.”

“Good! So we're both virgins.” The sheer thought of Mycroft getting fucked by another man made him sick. Nobody should dare come between them now. He wouldn’t let that happen!

“In that regard, we certainly are. So – I need to get ready now. I'll take care of my morning hygiene and then have breakfast. Will you join me or would you like to stay in bed for a while longer?”

Sherlock shot up from the bed. “I'll join you in the shower!” Squeamish or not – Mycroft had _offered_ it! At least he couldn't deny it had _sounded_ like it. And Sherlock just _couldn’t_ wait twelve bloody hours to get off with him!

“Um, I was actually talking about having breakfast with me… Clever boy indeed... Come then. But no hands below the other's waist!”

Sherlock grinned triumphantly. “You didn’t say anything about using my mouth! I win!” He had bested Mycroft two times in one minute!

Mycroft shook his head in wonder. “You certainly do… But considering that proposition, I think I’ll win, too… I'll call Anthea and tell her I'll come a bit later,” he finally gave in, and Sherlock was sure he wanted it every bit as much as he did.

“Good! Tell her you won't come at all! Tell her you're sick! Until next month!”

“Nice try, Sherlock.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I had to.”

“I totally understand.” Mycroft took his hand. “Off to the shower then and after that you can make tea if you'd be so kind and I'll call the office.”

Sherlock nodded with a wide grin. Mycroft would come to work in a very good mood today!

### 17

“Oh God, look at you…”

Sherlock tried to look dignified but failed terribly. There was no way of getting that silly grin from his face and he had looked in the mirror before leaving Mycroft's house – his lips were reddened and the corners of his mouth were sore from opening it so widely for such a long time. “I shall let you know that I am totally fine.” He went to the wardrobe to hang up his coat.

“Yes, I can see that.” John shut the door behind him with a grin and a good-natured headshake. “No details!”

“But he is so great, John, he…”

“Um, Sherlock. This isn't a good time for stories about your sex life. In fact it's no good time at all. There's a client waiting.”

“What? We've agreed that we should wait until tomorrow before dealing with any private clients again!” He could still feel the burn of the slap he had received from the last client he had tried to deal with… and the stinging of his black eye from Donovan… He should have gone on holiday as soon as it had been clear that this curse was real! But then he wouldn’t have got together with Mycroft. Nah. Better being in London and getting hit multiple times than missing out on being with his brother like this. He would have taken any kind of blow just to be his lover. _Damn…_ He was getting sappy… And he didn’t regret it.

“I know but she wouldn't go away… She was very determined.”

Sherlock sighed. “You know how this will end.”

“Yes. And her case isn't the least bit interesting…”

“John!”

“But she'll pay! Just… try to not be so fucking honest!”

“You know I can't!” Sherlock hissed.

“Then try harder!”

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

Sherlock whirled around and saw an elderly woman with very broad shoulders and a face like thunderclouds standing in the living room door. Yes. He could see why John hadn't dared send her away… “Good morning!” he said through gritted teeth. He could manage this! He was _Sherlock Bloody Holmes_!

“Good morning, young man. And now come in. I don't have much time!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said before biting his poor tongue once more.

She gave him a dangerous look out of narrowed eyes. “Are you mocking me, Mr Holmes.”

“I am indeed!” Sherlock shot a wild look at John and then estimated the distance to the door.

But the woman just snorted and grabbed his arm. “You are brave, I give you that. And now don't waste my time any longer."

“But you are wasting mine.”

“Shut up and listen!”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sherlock gave in and let himself be manhandled into his own living room after catching an _'ah-now-I-know-how-to-handle-you'_ look from a grinning, treacherous John Watson.

*****

“I met Molly after you'd gone to Mycroft's,” John said while they were walking towards _Angelo's_ for lunch. He had suggested it and Sherlock had grinned and agreed.

“Oh. How is she?”

“Still hurt… Will you talk to her tomorrow when everything is back to, well, 'normal'?” The air quotes around that last word were clearly audible.

Sherlock shrugged. “And tell her what? She knows it's true even though I wouldn’t have told her in such nasty words under different circumstances. I like her, you know that; I just wish she would finally forget this nonsense. We're friends and that's all we'll ever be – well, guess she rather hates me now.”

“Of course she doesn’t. But unrequited love is a terrible thing.”

“Talking out of own experience, John?”

“Not about you! But everybody knows that. Well, you don't. But your brother?”

“Yes. For him it has been clear for a long time that he doesn’t quite see me as a brother.” They had not spoken about any details here but they for sure would.

“See. He was a tad more discreet about it but he never forgot it.”

“Thank God he didn’t! He's wonderful, John.”

The doctor chuckled. “If anyone had told me you'd ever say that about him…”

“I know. I was so stupid. But now…”

They had reached their destination and John opened the door for him. Sherlock slipped inside and hung up his coat. Coming to this restaurant was like coming home. He had many homes now, he mused, the best one being his brother's house. Or more precisely: his bed; not only the place for sex but for tender-loving-intimacy. And his shower of course where he had sucked him greedily this morning, coming over his feet while swallowing his semen… He unconsciously licked his lips at the memory.

Angelo hurried out of the kitchen. He always seemed to know when they came along. “Sherlock! And your date!”

“He's not my _date_!” Sherlock hissed. For how many years had they been telling him this?! John had given it up eventually but it had started to irk Sherlock then. “And he will never be because…” He gurgled when a hand was clamped over his mouth.

“…he's secretly in love with _you_ ,” John said with a grin, and Angelo laughed out loud.

“Ah, you can't fool me! You belong together; everybody can see that! Lasagne?”

“Of course! And a candle if you have,” John joked and Angelo patted his shoulder.

“Candles for my favourite couple on the way!” He beamed at Sherlock, who was biting into John's fingers to not somehow blurt out the truth, and then hurried back where he had come from.

John disentangled his hand with a groan. “Biting? Is that your kink?” He examined his wet, reddened digits, showing the imprints of Sherlock's teeth very clearly.

“Sorry. And thanks!” Sherlock was feeling rather shaky. He would have almost given him and Mycroft away! Not that Angelo had ever met Mycroft but…

“Never mind. If he goes at it again while we're eating, I'll just kiss you quiet.”

“And I'll crush your balls then!” Sherlock threatened while they were sitting down at 'their' table at the window.

John grinned. “He'll think it's foreplay.”

Yes. In all probability he would… And Sherlock would have to let him believe it as the truth was something that had to be hidden forever. It made him a little sad (sod that – he was totally pissed off about it) that he would have to pretend he was in a romantic relationship with John, the most unromantic sod in the world but could never admit he was in love with _Mr Caring-And-Wonderful_ Mycroft Holmes but hell – he was so happy to have his brother in this way that he would gladly accept dealing with every difficulty he would ever have to face to just be allowed to be with him.

“If I can find them at all,” he mumbled casually while browsing through a news site on his phone. He and Mycroft had texted for a long while after solving the case of the scary lady until Mycroft had had to leave for a meeting but of course they would meet in the evening again.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your _balls_ , John. Considering your height… Ouch!” He rubbed his right shin with his left heel.

“Wanker…”

“Woman!”

They both burst out laughing and that's how Angelo, carrying a tray with two candles, glasses and garlic bread, found them, giving them a wide grin, and Sherlock realised that for once in his life, he was truly happy. He had his friends (well, most of them and somehow he would have to repair his relationship with Molly), he had a job he complained about but loved nonetheless, and most of all he was the lover of the best man in all possible worlds.

When Angelo had served their food, Sherlock grabbed his arm. “I've always wanted to tell you – you make the best pasta in all Britain!”

Angelo pressed his hand on his chest. “John was right – you _do_ love me!”

Sherlock nodded. “I love your pasta and you're one of the few people I can endure without wanting to strangle them!” He bit his tongue again so he wouldn’t add, _'Except if you hint at John and me being together'_. Sometimes it did work to suppress bursting out the truth…

“And that's as friendly as he gets,” John threw in dryly and they all chuckled and then the two Baker Street Boys started murdering their delicious lasagne.

### 18

“It might not be a fair question to start with as I can't really answer it myself but it's the most obvious one I think,” Sherlock said after chewing a forkful of fish, picking up on their conversation about getting to know each other better by asking questions they would both answer. He had made a long list (favourite book/ piece of music/ method of killing/ colour/ pet/ food/ film; people you hate most, favourite childhood memory etc.) but this one had been on top.

Mycroft nodded. “You mean how did I fall in love with you?”

“Or realised that you had. I mean, I was just hit by the realisation that I love you like a brick two days ago and I can't name the moment when it happened as I obviously managed to completely suppress it…”

 _Or it never happened in the first place_ , Mycroft thought suddenly, feeling as if he'd got a kick in the gut, but then he followed this devastating thought onto a really horrible path: What if this witch – and everything in in his rational mind still refused to even consider the possibility that something like this existed but in his heart he knew this was real – had not so much cursed Sherlock to realise and tell the truth (or rather the other way around actually) but let him speak out and believe to feel something that was the opposite of what he was really feeling and thinking? He grew cold inside at this thought. What if at eleven am the next day Sherlock would realise that he in fact loved Molly Hooper and despised him, Mycroft? It would kill him, no matter how often he had assured Sherlock and himself that he would accept without questioning if Sherlock changed his mind about this relationship. He would not give him a hard time but it would make him die inside and…

And then he yelped when a fork was rammed into the back of his hand. “What the…”

“Stop this, Mycroft! Don't you dare think something like this!” Sherlock was glowering at him fiercely – he had obviously deduced his thoughts quite correctly. “You can't really, _seriously_ think this would happen! What we did with each other already – you really think a fucking _witch_ made me do that? She didn’t plant any ideas in my head; she just made me dig up what was already there! I had sex with you because I wanted it and I want much more of this! Or is it in fact _you_ who has second thoughts, deep inside? Do you think this is wrong and ghastly because it has always been a crime and caused disgust by people who don't understand that love is something that doesn't ask for morality and laws?”

Mycroft was speechless for a moment and then he grabbed Sherlock's hand and guided to his mouth to kiss it, just quickly glancing at the imprints of the fork in his own skin. “I'm so sorry, little brother. I really want to believe this is real; there is nothing I want more than being with you as long as you want this and feel this is the right thing to do for you. It's just that I longed for it since you've been… fifteen and suddenly it seemed to come true and… It's still so surreal.”

Sherlock nodded. “We've been here before. I do get your point. But don't doubt me, Mycroft. I know my own mind, as strange as the entire situation might be. Tomorrow. Eleven. Come to Baker Street. Invent a case so you can head over and then you'll be here when the curse ends.”

“Sherlock, I don't need to invent a case to be allowed to visit you. I don't really have a boss. I do have to play nice with the PM but you know how replaceable they are. I've survived nine of them already…”

“And I don't even know who the current one is, let alone recall a single name of one of the others…” Sherlock confessed and they both chuckled.

Mycroft was more than grateful for this moment of lightness. He didn’t have any intention to scare Sherlock off with his mistrust in the genuineness of his feelings but he had to be very careful to not mess it up. Was he really so used to everything going wrong as far as he and Sherlock were concerned (as well as the general situation in the world in many regards) that he was speaking too soon, risking to really let this fail? He knew he had to pull himself together. One more night and the next morning.

It would seem endless. But they would know how to pass the next few hours for sure.

“You did answer my question to some extent,” Sherlock remarked now, having finished his meal. “But care to elaborate?”

“Oh, sure. Well, you can imagine how disturbed I was feeling when I realised it. It was… right after the first time you seriously took too much cocaine… You were lying in a hospital bed, sleeping above all. I sat down on the edge of it and looked at you, and…” It was so hard to speak it out even though Sherlock was watching him encouragingly, nothing but affection in his eyes. “I realised that if anything happened to you, I would… not survive that. That was nothing new of course; I've loved you since you were born. But, God, it sounds so sappy and out of place but as you do want to hear the full truth?” Sherlock nodded at once and pressed his arm so he continued. “The sun was shining in your face and it was as if I was seeing you, really seeing you for the first time. You were not a boy anymore; you were on the verge of becoming a man, and what a man…”

Mycroft remembered so well how Sherlock's long, black lashes had looked against his pale skin, how the shadows had accentuated his cheekbones and how red his full lips had looked. “You looked like a marble statue, and not much livelier actually. You were perfect and beautiful and I realised I still loved you as a brother but it was so much more and I had to face the fact that I desired you… and as soon as you opened your eyes I yelled at you for risking your life…” He shook his head at this memory. He had been feeling guilty and shaken and worried to death. And he had messed it all up back then and he just couldn’t do it again.

“And rightfully so,” Sherlock said with a sad smile. “I was stupid. So stupid. Never again, Mycroft. I promise.”

“You've promised many times,” Mycroft said, returning the smile. “But now it's all different. You've got Lestrade and John and Mrs Hudson. You're not alone…” Not as alone as he'd been back then, with parents who didn’t understand him and a brother who had long left home to make a career. He should have come home more often. He should have locked his feelings for Sherlock away and be what Sherlock had needed back then – a caring big brother.

“No, I'm not alone. And I never was. I've always had you. I should have reached out to you back then. Would you have pushed me away?”

“Never!” Mycroft exclaimed in horror. “But I did see you need help and was too cowardice to get closer to you, afraid you could sense what I was really feeling… So I rather sent you away so others could take care of you instead of being there for you in person. _I_ was the stupid one.” It didn’t matter that these _others_ had been professionals and that he had known Sherlock in the best of hands. _He_ should have been the one taking care of him, period.

“No, that's not true. That's _my_ title.” Sherlock smiled. “But not anymore. We've survived all these dark times, Mycroft. We seemed to have lost each other but we never did. And I'll always be grateful for this curse that brought you into my life like this. And now – can we go upstairs?”

“Yes, brother mine.” Mycroft needed to have him closer now. As close as possible… And he was trying so hard not to think, _'And I'll store this in my mind to remember it forever if it's in fact the last time…'_

*****

Sherlock was all over his brother as soon as Mycroft had lain down on his back, deliciously naked and spread out for him to feast.

One more night and a few hours of the next day and then Mycroft would finally believe him that he was really madly in love with him. Too long for Sherlock's taste… He wanted to prove it now, show his brother that he desired and loved and craved him.

He did feel bad about the fork-attack but he had been so exasperated – and, if he was honest to himself, so mad at himself for causing such disbelief in the first place, and it had made him just explode.

He did understand Mycroft's reservations. Of course a romantic relationship between two brothers was not only forbidden – it was also very rare, and taking the fact of their estrangement over such a long period of time into consideration, it was really no wonder that Mycroft still had problems to believe it. But he should trust him by now! Sherlock had sucked his cock under the shower! He had been kissing the living hell out of him! Licked up his sperm! Why would he do such things he had never considered doing before if not because he truly loved him?

His fingers and tongue were moving over Mycroft's upper body frantically, ignoring the impressive boner he sported for now. He wanted to kiss and touch and caress every delicious inch of his brother. He would kiss and stroke these last doubts out of him! And he really hoped Mycroft would come to Baker Street the next morning so he could witness the moment when the curse was completed and Sherlock got his control over his thoughts and tongue back. Then there would be no reason for doubt anymore.

And he was aware of the possibility that Mycroft could forever question his feelings, knowing his brother had every reason and every right to do so. But Sherlock wouldn’t have it. He would be so good to him. He would be the perfect lover, the perfect companion and the perfect brother, step by step erasing every remaining hint of doubt. How lucky he was to have found this all in Mycroft. The man who gave him everything he could wish for… The man who was now lying under him, stroking his neck and murmuring sweet words.

“I love you!” Sherlock said, lifting his head, and his gaze bored into Mycroft's, his eyes pleading, _'Please believe me!'_

“I love you, too, little brother.”

And then Sherlock was urged to move upwards on the bed so Mycroft could pull him in for a deep, loving kiss, and then he yelped when Mycroft's forefinger sneaked between his arse cheeks, teasing his hole with wonderful naughtiness.

“You mind, little brother?” Mycroft asked him.

“ _Mind_ , my arse!”

“I do believe it's yours…” Mycroft retorted dryly, and then he continued to finger his hole and Sherlock groaned in absolute delight, eager for having the long digit in there, and having it in there right now.

*****

He had already sucked Sherlock's cock and Sherlock had sucked his one, but this felt strangely more intimate. His finger in Sherlock's tight heat, surrounded by his flesh – Mycroft knew he would never look at his hand the same way as before… And just thinking how his _cock_ would feel in the strong grip of Sherlock's muscles… He knew he could have that tonight. Sherlock would gladly accept doing this, not only because he was so eager to do everything possible with him but to prove his feelings for him.

But Mycroft wouldn't let it happen tonight. Perhaps he was dismissing his only chance at having it but that was exactly the point. If Sherlock's feelings weren't real after all, and damn he just _couldn’t_ shake this fear off – in fact it was growing stronger the closer that moment was coming – then it would seem so wrong to have used him like this. Of course getting a blowjob wouldn’t have been any more right but… for him it was still a difference.

Sherlock had been on his knees as soon as they had been in the shower together in the morning and had greedily taken him into his mouth before he could have objected. Not that he would have wanted that… And a part of him still insisted he should have. He didn’t like this part and he knew Sherlock hated it but… this was his little brother, and Sherlock's safety had always been the most important matter for him, if he had shown him or not, if Sherlock had believed it or not.

In this moment under the shower there had been no doubt that Sherlock wanted this, was eager to experience it and to please him and it had been over quickly enough as Sherlock had been as skilled at it after just a few seconds of too many teeth and some gagging as he was in everything else. It was a lame excuse but of course Sherlock didn’t want any excuses. He wanted _him_. For how much longer was the question he just couldn’t stop asking himself only that now he didn’t fear so much that Sherlock could change his mind but find out that his mind had been betraying him thanks to this blasted curse…

“Mycroft…” Sherlock's tone was on the verge of being royally pissed off. Of course he had sensed his thoughts again…

“Sorry, Sherlock.” Mycroft started moving his finger to distract him and it worked…

Sherlock groaned and moved his bum into his direction just to take him deeper. “Stop thinking or I'll hit you with that water bottle!”

It had not worked _that_ well after all… “Our brains never stop; you should know that.”

“Then let it think about how we'll fuck tomorrow!”

“Language,” Mycroft reprimanded him automatically and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Fuck language!”

“Yes, indeed…”

Sherlock giggled and Mycroft's heart got lighter once more. Sherlock was right. Thinking about this just sucked… And for the next two hours he managed to indeed not waste any more time with thinking of possible developments he wouldn’t be able to change should they really occur. Instead he touched and spoilt his little brother, making him shudder and moan and dig his fingernails into his shoulders and come three times with his mouth and hands, and if this was really wrong, it definitely didn’t feel like it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! 
> 
> Thanks so much to the handful of people who took the time to comment. You make all the work worthwhile.

### 19

“And I'm telling you, Holmes, this man shows no respect and I'm the leader of this country and…”

Mycroft blanked the PM out almost completely, managing to nod and make small noises of compassion, agreement or amazement when it seemed required, but his thoughts were miles away from his Whitehall office.

Actually they were in Baker Street. It was almost time to leave and go there.

In a little more than half an hour the curse would stop working. And after that, Mycroft would either be the happiest man on earth or the saddest.

Of course he hoped Sherlock would be like he'd been the last couple of days, albeit without being forced to tell everybody the truth. Nobody should be sentenced to this. Mycroft shuddered at the thought that _he_ could be in this position. He would lose his job within two minutes… His entire career was based on manipulation, schemes and diplomacy. He was the one to memorise everything and draw conclusions nobody else could but apart from that, he was a string puller, and nobody could pull strings with honesty. He would be doomed…

Even Sherlock, famous for being blunt and cold and cruel to people, was holding back usually no matter how convinced he might have been of always saying what he was thinking. He had spared the feelings of his friends and obviously he had been hiding things from himself even. Which proved once more that a man was not only his brain, not even a genius like Sherlock. There was so much more to him, his personality shaped by feelings and experiences as much as by thoughts and conscious conclusions.

Mycroft felt his throat get dry when he realised that there was the possibility that his brother's mind had hidden his feelings for Mycroft (if they had really existed before his curse in the first place) for a reason. Had it just protected Sherlock from his own misguided desires? And this spell had dragged them into the light? Would _Sherlock_ now be doomed because he loved his brother in a way he simply shouldn’t? Mycroft had thought he had overcome his guilty feelings for wanting his baby brother but now they seemed to be back with full force. Could he really sentence Sherlock to a life with him as his lover? Wouldn’t that be the very definition of betraying him, of abusing him?

No. Slowly his pulse stopped racing as if he had been using his treadmill at full speed for an hour. No. He loved Sherlock. All he'd ever wanted was to see him healthy and happy. And Sherlock _had_ been happy with him the last couple of days. And everything in him told him that he would go on making him happy as long as Sherlock's feelings didn’t disappear in just thirty horrible minutes…

“Are you actually _listening_ to me, Mr Holmes?”

Great… He had lost his mask. “Of course, sir,” he lied suavely. “But if you excuse me now – I have to go see my brother.”

“In difficulties again, the lad?” the PM snarled as if Sherlock was a fifteen-year-old miscreant.

“Not at all. But he needs my support.”

“Well,” the PM said while getting up, “we all do. I do. England does. The Queen does. Take care of your family, Mr Holmes, and then come back to take care of our beloved country.”

Mycroft stared at him, speechless, while he was walking out of his office. Then he gathered his coat and his umbrella and left to be in Baker Street when it counted the most.

*****

Mycroft wasn’t sure if he was feeling relieved or offended to see that John was there when he finally entered 221B after a car ride through horrible traffic. But he quickly decided that the doctor's presence was rather comforting. Sherlock was relying on him after all and if things went wrong, he would need a friend. And if they did not, well, John could still leave and give them some privacy again…

Sherlock was clinging around his neck as soon as he had closed the door behind him. Mycroft pulled him close and kissed his cheek and rubbed his back. “How are you, little brother?” He watched John turning away politely, pretending to read something on his smartphone.

“Nervous. Glad it will be over soon. The curse!” he immediately added when Mycroft winced.

“But you're nervous because you _do_ consider that everything will change,” Mycroft mumbled.

“I'm nervous because your doubts are infective!”

Mycroft sighed. “I'm so sorry. I can't help it.”

“No, of course you can't. Come, sit down with us.”

“I can leave if you prefer, Mycroft,” John offered but Mycroft shook his head.

“No, thank you, but… I think it's better if you stay.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I will _not_ change my mind, Mycroft! Want to take a bet?!”

“No! I won't bet against your… feelings,” Mycroft mumbled, remembering that they were not alone. That John knew about everything didn’t mean he should hear them confessing their love for each other.

“I love you, Mycroft, and as I've told you about a hundred times before, this is not going to change!” Sherlock promptly hissed, and John winced.

But he didn’t look disgusted or anything, Mycroft stated to himself, feeling a bit relieved. It was just an awkward situation, that was all.

John cleared his throat. “Two minutes.”

Mycroft felt his pulse speed up again. His stomach was doing strange movements and he really hoped he wouldn’t have to hurry to the bathroom before this was over. He didn’t want to miss the moment – the moment when Sherlock's eyes would tell him he really loved him. And hearing screams of anger and disgust while sitting on the toilet was a truly horrible image…

“It will be fine, Mycroft,” Sherlock said firmly, his fingers boring into Mycroft's arm quite painfully.

“One minute,” John announced mercilessly.

“Whatever happens,” Mycroft stammered, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears, “I promise I will always support you and do whatever I can to keep you happy.”

“I would never be happy again if I lost you,” Sherlock mumbled, snuggling against him, and Mycroft kissed his hair in helpless horror.

“Over.” John's voice sounded strident.

For a moment Mycroft and Sherlock just stared into each other's eyes.

Then Sherlock said, “You've gained weight. Too much cake, brother? Sold your treadmill?”

Mycroft paled and proceeded to get up on shaking legs, his heart shattering to pieces. His biggest fears had come true…

“Wait! I was _lying_! I can lie again!” Sherlock yelled.

“What…”

“Sorry, I thought this was clear to you! I love you, Mycroft, my Mycroft, and the fuck I'll ever let you go again!”

And then Sherlock's arms were around his neck and his lips were pressed onto his mouth, and Mycroft felt weak from relief and his heart seemed to be bursting with happiness now.

This was real. Sherlock loved him. And why ever he had suppressed his feelings for him before – he was embracing them now and that was good enough for him as it was very obviously good enough for Sherlock!

They kissed for about two minutes, not wasting a thought on a certainly very embarrassed John Watson, before Sherlock pulled back and said, “John, watch the door. And don't let anyone in! My brother and I will be busy in my bedroom for a few minutes! Or an hour!”

“Oh… Well… Sure.”

“And this time, watchdog, you'd better do your job right!”

And then John beamed at them and chuckled. “I'll defend the door with my life.”

“I should hope so, Captain Watson! Let's go, brother.”

“But shouldn’t we wait until…”

“No, Mycroft. Now!”

And so Mycroft let himself be dragged into Sherlock's bedroom and he couldn’t have said he really objected to this treatment that much…

### 20

Sherlock didn’t know what to do first. He had never felt like this before – completely excited and lively and wired. Gone was any feeling of being sort of controlled by an external power. He could lie again as much as he liked - and God was he feeling guilty for scaring his brother like this with the first silly thing that had come to his mind; obviously he had underestimated Mycroft's fear of losing him again.

 _I have to make up for that now!_ he thought while fiercely kissing his brother, pressing him against his bedroom door. He had to finally hammer home that he wanted him and would still want him on his last day on earth! Hm… _hammer home_ …

“Fuck me, Mycroft. Right now. I've bought lube!” He hurried to fumble the bottle out of the drawer.

“What now? No, Sherlock, we'd need to prepare you properly and it's the middle of a work day and…”

“Fuck your work! _I'm_ your work right now! I won't let you go before you've finally understood how much I want this!”

“I do believe you, Sherlock, and…”

“I need you, brother. Right here on my bed and right now. Please!” Had Mycroft ever denied him anything when he had said 'please'? _Had_ he ever said please…?

In any way it worked. Mycroft swallowed hard and nodded. “All right.” He started fumbling with his waistcoat and when he had opened the last button, Sherlock was already stark naked. Impatiently he helped Mycroft with the shirt buttons and his trousers, and when his brother was finally bare of his armour, he took the bottle and slammed it into Mycroft's hand after opening it.

“Go ahead, Myc! Into me you get.” He kneeled on the bed and presented himself to his brother in a rather wanton way.

Mycroft's cheeks were flushed and he hurried to squeeze some of the sticky fluid onto Sherlock's crack. It felt cold and weird but somehow Sherlock's cock rose to full hardness within a second. He really couldn’t wait for it…

He closed his eyes when Mycroft's forefinger slid into him. His balls had started to throb and swell and he moved backwards to take more of the invading finger.

“Another one!” he demanded.

“All right. It feels good for you?”

“Your cock will feel even better so don't let me wait!” Damn… He did recognise that tone… He didn’t want to talk to Mycroft like that anymore! He gave him a sheepish look but Mycroft just smiled and he even looked relieved. Well, probably because he had his brattish brother back but a brattish brother who was still crazy for him. Sherlock mused that his well-known behaviour might be more useful to convince Mycroft of his sincerity regarding their sexual relationship than any love confession. But still…

“I love you, Mycroft. I know this is not quite romantic right now but I need you and I just can't wait until tonight!”

“I do understand, little brother. But if I hurt you too much, tell me so I can stop.”

“Now I know what you meant when you said caring was not an advantage,” Sherlock rumbled, and Mycroft laughed out loud and Sherlock grinned at him over his shoulder and somehow everything was just _perfect_ …

And then Mycroft's cock knocked at the forbidden door and Sherlock hurried to let the big thing in and he had to bite his poor tongue once more to not scream the house down in his excitement when he finally had his big brother where he needed him the most.

*****

The outer world seemed to have disappeared, Mycroft realised. His driver waiting for him in the car – didn’t matter. John standing at the door, being their guard dog – should he. Mrs Hudson being in the downstairs flat – who cared? All the work waiting for him, the world in general being a mess; laws, morals, their parents somewhere in the countryside – right now nothing of this meant anything to the most important man in Britain.

He was making love to his little brother. He was balls deep into him, hammering his hips against his impossibly plush bum, his hands on Sherlock's hips, his manhood engulfed by his tightness, Sherlock's smooth back covered in sweat, his legs trembling against his ones – this was all that mattered.

And he knew Sherlock had been right to do it right here and now. Erasing every bit of guilt and doubt, showing him that Mycroft was part of his life now. There was no _Sherlock Number One_ , the detective, living with John Watson and Mrs Hudson, solving cases for Greg Lestrade, and _Sherlock Number Two_ , Mycroft's brother and lover. These parts were not separated, not even separable but one, and of course Mycroft was equally just one, even thinking of Sherlock when he was talking to the Prime Minister. Sherlock had always been on his mind on every day of his life since he'd been seven years old. Sherlock had always been a part of him and the most important part above all, and now he was finally part of Sherlock, and what they were doing now was a very literal and crude and exciting way of Sherlock to show him this very vividly.

“Is that all right?” he asked, panting.

“Yeah,” Sherlock moaned. “Harder! I won't break!”

“Your bed might though…”

Sherlock giggled. “Nah. Survived lots of experiments already.”

Mycroft didn’t ask which kind of experiments Sherlock had done on his bed, assuming he didn’t really want to know. “What's your favourite colour?” he asked instead, grinning, and Sherlock giggled even louder.

“You want to go through that list now?!”

“One day, one question.”

Sherlock snorted. “Okay! Blue! Like your eyes! And yours?”

“Black. Like your hair.”

“Black isn’t a colour!”

“It is. Black like my heart.”

“Your heart is golden, Mycroft.”

And wasn’t it really? At least when Sherlock was concerned? This sappy musing came to an abrupt halt when he felt his orgasm building up.

“Oh,” he made, and Sherlock turned his head to watch his face.

“You're close?” he asked in that deep baritone that Mycroft had always loved so much, even when it had said rather nasty things to him.

“Yes. Oh God, Sherlock… Shall I pull out?”

“No! I want you to paint me inside!”

At this wanton statement, Mycroft tumbled over the edge, releasing himself into his brother's body, and while he was still emptying his balls into him, he reached around Sherlock's body to finally get hold of his cock, and it took only a few strokes to make Sherlock cry out and come all over the bed.

He collapsed onto the soiled duvet and Mycroft collapsed onto him.

“Oh, that was…” Sherlock's stunned-sounding voice, muffled by the blanket, broke off but of course there was no doubt about how he was feeling.

Mycroft nodded, rolling to his side to not crush Sherlock any further. “Yes, little brother. It was wonderful…”

“And only the first time of thousands, right?” Sherlock mumbled against his lips. He had turned to embrace him, and Mycroft pulled him close.

“Millions, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed him, and Mycroft kissed him back, and he allowed himself and his brother a few minutes of sheer bliss before they would have to change the linen and get cleaned up and dressed to continue with their respective days, and later Sherlock would come over to his house so they could do it again.

And there was finally no doubt and not a hint of guilt left in Mycroft's heart; all there was left was love and the knowledge that it was reciprocated full-heartedly.

### Epilogue

“Oh, they look very nice, Miss Ronsworth.” The deliverer handed her the huge bouquet of flowers.

Emma-Louise Ronsworth, better known to Sherlock Holmes and the public as Lady Darklemoon, took the delicate beauties with a pleased smile. “Is there a card?” Of course they were from a grateful client, as usual.

“It looks like but of course I didn’t read it!”

She smiled and gave him a generous tip and took the flowers into her house, wondering who might have sent them. She was a witch but she couldn’t see such things…

When she first saw the signature she shook her head in disbelief. But then she spotted a hundred-pound note and eagerly read the letter.

_Dear Lady Darklemoon,_

_I do hope you forgive me for finding out your address._

_Thank you. That's what I want to say. You have opened my eyes in so many ways. I do apologise for my nasty words towards you. Suffice to say I believe you now…_

_I wonder though if you could not only forgive me but also do me a favour. It's not for myself. I have included some money for your efforts; I hope it is enough and you won't be offended. Please don't send me another curse if you are; your last one was very helpful in the end but I don't think I could endure a repeat so soon._

_Anyway! The favour I dare ask you for…_

When Emma-Louise had finished the letter, she was smiling from ear to ear, her heart filled with joy. It was always so beautiful when people learned something from their curses. And apparently even a man as smart as Sherlock Holmes had learned a thing or two from it.

She stored the money and sat down on her couch, taking her cat on her lap. Of course she would do what the now so polite young man had asked her to do. Piece of cake!

*****

“Hello Sherlock!”

“Mrs Hudson!”

She giggled when the detective brushed a kiss onto her cheek.

“Isn't it a wonderful day,” he said, his eyes glistening.

She threw a look at the window. The rain was pouring against it and it was cold and nasty today. “It is,” she said softly.

Sherlock hurled himself onto the kitchen chair and grabbed a biscuit. He was vibrating with energy. “Will visit my parents next weekend,” he said with his mouth full of crumbs.

“Oh, that's nice. You spoke with your mum?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. She wants to see us, my brother and me.”

Mrs Hudson provided him with tea. “So he'll come with you?”

“Oh yes.”

“Things are better now between you and him, hm?”

Sherlock nodded, and weren't his cheeks a little red all at once? “Yes. Much better. He's not quite as ghastly as I always thought.” In this moment his phone vibrated and he hurried to take it out of his shirt pocket. “Oh, will you excuse me for a second?”

“Of course.” She watched him go and took a sip from her tea, smiling. It was so nice to see Sherlock so much in love… Sometimes love went down strange paths, but you always had to follow it as it knew best… And she knew her almost-son in the best of hands and that was all that counted.

*****

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn’t see you.” Molly hurried to grab the apples that had fallen out of the lady's basket.

“It was my fault; I was distracted and didn’t watch where I was going.” The woman smiled and then she bent forward and whispered something into Molly's ear, and then she disappeared.

Molly was standing frozen on the spot, feeling dizzy and disoriented. She stared at an apple she had overlooked before but then she just resumed walking down the street.

Scott! When had she last talked to her old university-friend Scott? He had been so nice and handsome. She really should call him!

She wondered where this thought had come from but as soon as she arrived home, she looked up his number and a moment later, he answered the phone, and he sounded very happy to hear from her and suggested meeting the next evening.

This night Molly Hooper went to bed with a smile on her face, and she didn’t waste a single thought on a man called Sherlock Holmes.

*****

“Hello Sally.”

“Hi Fr-… Sherlock, Doctor Watson. The body is over there.”

Sherlock smiled. “You look nice today.”

“Do I?” Sergeant Donovan looked at him with an expression of deep mistrust. But then she gave him a half-smile. “Thank you.” It did sound as if she almost choked on the words.

Sherlock winked at her and went over to the corpse, followed by a discreetly chuckling doctor. “Hi Greg.”

“Hi Sherlock. You look… good!” the DI stated after greeting John as well, eyeing Sherlock curiously.

Sherlock grinned and put his coat collar up. “Thanks.” Having sex all night did bring colour to a man's face, he had realised. And it made him feel relaxed and surprisingly tolerant. “What have you found out already, Phil?”

Anderson narrowed his eyes but when Sherlock just smiled at him encouragingly, he cleared his throat and told Sherlock everything the detective had figured out after one look at the body.

Greg Lestrade was watching the interaction with a pleased smile. Miracles did happen. Especially when Mycroft Holmes was involved. And Greg thought he was definitely _very much_ involved in this particular miracle. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out…

“What's so funny, Greg?” John asked him and he grinned and patted the doctor's shoulder.

“Nothing, John.” And then he listened to Sherlock delivering his own conclusions and he was so proud of this great man who had gone through so much and come out a really good man.

Greg had always known love made the greatest difference.

*****

“Did you miss me?”

“All day, little brother.”

“What's your favourite dessert?” Sherlock asked a long kiss later, resuming their task of finding out everything about each other.

“Oh. Cake?”

And they both laughed and then they kissed again and no human being in this world was as happy as the Holmes Brothers, and they owed their happiness to a magic neither of them had believed in before, but it couldn’t have worked any wonders without the miracle of love.

 

The End

 

 


End file.
